Sacrifice
by Constantine1453
Summary: A sacrifice made forces Harry to become a Death Eater. After five years, he appears one night at the Weasley house. What follows is a story of love, betrayal, pain and sacrifice for all involved. SLASH.
1. Chapter 1 Promises Kept

Sacrifice   
Chapter 1   
Promises Kept  


  
Disclaimer - These characters, settings, etc. are not mine, and belong to JKR and all other holders of copyrights.  
  
-We are not what we were, nor do we wish to be. What we wanted we will not have. The way we have loved we will not love again. We love now for what we are.-   
Candide  
  
Oliver Wood was nervous.   
  
He sat in a tube car, in the middle of downtown London surrounded by Muggles. Wood was nervous because he knew he was being followed, and had been for several days. It was all he could do not to whip out his wand and curse all of the despicable Muggles sitting there, watching him dart his eyes around, safe in their own little secure world. It wasn't as if their world had collapsed around them, oh no, their world was secure, thanks to bloody Potter. Once again, Potter, whom Oliver Wood had trusted, saved the day. And now, Oliver Wood was being hunted.  
  
The train's brakes ground together angrily as it slowed, causing Oliver to wince. No one else in the car batted an eyelid, they obviously heard it everyday, and Oliver snorted at the thought. _Why the Muggles never could make anything noiseless has always escaped me_, he thought as the car stopped, giving everyone packed together inside a small bump as the doors decompressed themselves, letting out a _hiss_ of air and letting in the cacophony of noise that accompanies any busy tube station.   
  
Oliver let the Muggles leave first, and he watched the procession of professionals, parents, children, teenagers and all possible walks of life mix together at the door, pushing each other to get out and on. Finally he stood, brushing off his jumper and jeans, and walked to the door. He stepped from the car onto the platform, the heel of his boot digging into the mind the gap' sign as he crossed swiftly over it. His eyes took in all of the surrounding station: curved walls, plastic benches, loiterers, prostitutes, advertisements and political slogans. But most of all he was watching for someone. Or more specifically, something.   
  
After three long years of working side-by-side with Potter, Oliver had learned that the only thing often left undisguised was his scar. It could be concealed only by make-up, with any sort of magic giving the possibility of being unmasked. Oliver knew that Potter would not have time to use makeup to hide his scar while he was hunting him. So the scar would be there. And Oliver was watching, searching. Because if he found Harry first, then he could take the first shot. If not, then he was as good as dead.  
  
Oliver joined the tide of humanity that crisscrossed the cold cement floor, walking up the stairs, trying to watch all of the people go by him, to see if any of them had a scar. His breath was controlled, but his palms sweat fiercely and he almost tripped over the last step. A man wearing a black coat grabbed him as he stumbled, his arms flailing to catch himself. Oliver wrenched his jumper from the man and muttered a word of thanks once he was upright. The man harumphed indignantly, and continued on his way, pushing past Oliver. Oliver sighed, and rested against the white tiled wall to catch his breath.  
  
_Two weeks ago we were so close to victory. But he betrayed us. Patil, Cho, Roger - they're all dead because of him. And I'm next. I just need a few more days, and then I can get out of Britain and go to America or something_. He paused, propelled himself off the wall, and continued climbing out into the open. _Just a few more days. _All Oliver wanted to do was play Quidditch. Oliver Wood was arguably the best keeper in recent memory in Britain. Few goals could be scored against him, and he took pride in that fact. But it didn't couldn't change the fact that he had become a Death Eater - his desire for revenge against the Muggles was too great. Voldemort gave him that revenge.  
  
Finally the warm mid afternoon sun hit him, causing him to push up his sleeves. A young mother walked by him with a little girl in tow. The girl caught the sight of Oliver's Dark Mark and began to pull her mother's hand, to get her to stop. She pointed wildly at the tattoo and began to ask questions. The mother yanked on the girl's wrist, Leave him alone, said the young brunette. I'm sorry. My daughter just likes to ask questions. Nice tattoo, by the way. The mother and daughter resumed walking in the direction of Westminster Abbey, which loomed high in the distance. Oliver laughed, _If they only knew...if I could only curse them._  
  
_Filthy Muggles_, Oliver's mind reflexively told him as he waited for the light to change, so that he could cross the street. During his time with the Dark Lord, he had had many Muggle Survival training sessions, so that he could fit into Muggle society without much trouble if he needed to. The Muggles were never to know that there was another world existing all around them.   
  
Oliver walked down Tothill Street, the Abbey looming ever larger before him. He took in the faces and people around him, while ignoring the city itself. In the distance, a bell tolled three, giving Oliver the impetus to move just a little bit faster. Passing the neo-baroque government buildings, he crossed over Victoria Street, and walked onto the grounds of the great Abbey. Taking one final look at his watch, Oliver joined the small queue that had formed waiting for entrance into the church.  
  


*****  


  
High above Tothill street, perched on the roof of one of the government buildings, Harry Potter pulled the Omnioculars from his face, satisfied that Wood was not going anywhere. _One more. Just one more and I will be able to go home, _he thought as he gripped his wand tightly. His face darkened, just as it had for the previous three years every time hatred washed over him. Harry Potter hated with a passion all Death Eaters. Followers of Voldemort who had given their souls to the man freely. And Harry knew that he hated himself. He knew also that society would not welcome him with arms wide open, regardless of his accomplishment in killing the Dark Lord. Harry knew what fate awaited him if he returned, but return he must. He had a promise to keep.  
  
Harry mounted his broom, shaking the brooding thoughts from his head, and cast a strong Invisibility Charm over both he and his broom. He pushed off from the roof of the building, and flew over the street below. Flying had always been his indulgence. He loved it. He loved the feeling of flying: letting the air wash over you, free from all of the earthy cares and woes that may await you on the ground.   
  
He reached the ancient gothic tower with ease, and took only a moment to set himself down on the roof and shrink his broom, placing it in his small bag. He strode over to the floor hatch, and began the trek down the stairway, towards the floor. Harry would wait until the Abbey closed.   
  
Then he would attack.  
  


*****  


  
It was nearly sunset, and Draco Malfoy, master of Malfoy Manor, walked through the cavernous corridors en route to his old bedroom. He passed centuries-old portraits of family members from across Europe; Pierre Malfoy from France, Johann Malfoy IV of the Holy Roman Empire, and Roberto Malfoy, a senator in the Venetian Republic. They were a fierce lot, looking down on him as he passed. He was not in a good mood. Draco had had a meeting with several Aurors eariler in the day; he had to tell them, for the hundredth time that he was not harboring Harry Potter, nor did he ever, at any time harbor him.  
  
Although he would have liked to. Draco, on this late August day, was confused about his love, as he had been for the past three years. Although he yearned to have Harry's warm body benieth his own all these years, Harry had betrayed him. He knew all about the traitor Harry Potter, even helping him in becoming a Death Eater. Draco stopped for a moment, looking over the estate grounds, remembering his triumph over Pansy Parkingson during their seventh year.   
  
But Harry had betrayed him, by breaking one of the two promises that he had made. The first was that after all was said and done, and Harry had completed his task, he would return to Draco. As far as Draco knew Harry had not finished that. The second promise had been broken and Draco fought to keep down his lunch at the memory of the pain.  
  
Endless pain followed being taken from Diagon Alley. Flashes of Harry, using him, taking him, trying to break him. The worst three days of Draco's life came back to him in a wave, and he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His Harry had broken the we will not harm one another' promise. Draco had fuzzy memories of the first day, but the last two were more clear, as Draco had begun to break free, and turn the tables on Harry. He succeeded, and he broke through Harry's Death Eater shell to reach his love, the man he fell in love with.   
  
How did he feel about Harry now? He had asked himself that question all afternoon, and was still unsure of the answer. A part of him wanted to forget Harry - the pain of those three days was too great. But another part of him would take him back, and protect him.  
  
Draco finally reached his bedroom door, and he turned the brass knob and let himself in. A cloud of dust hung in the air; the house elves were not allowed to clean this room. The room was as he remembered it; spacious, with a large claw-footed four-poster on an area carpet in the middle of the room. Two large windows let the afternoon sun pour in across his white duvet, and a two doors led to a bathroom and a small sitting room.   
  
He was drawn to this room; it was in many ways his only reminder of the life that he had led with Harry. He kept in it Harry's trunk, and everything he could from Harry's Hogwarts days. Photographs, letters, drawings, all were storied away, far from prying eyes. Draco sighed, watching the dust billow outwards. This room was weakness, but it was one that he could afford. In his heart, above all else - Draco still loved Harry.  
  
Crossing quickly across the room, Draco crouched down on the floor and let his day-robes slide off his shoulders. Draco reached under the bed and pulled out a small, leather bound trunk, the leather still smooth, with a small sheen of dust on the top. He dusted it off, and set the trunk on the comforter. He sucked in a breath, as he always did when opening the trunk, and closed his eyes. Draco opened the trunk, and let the lid fall open.  
  
A musty smell greeted his nostrils. He reached into the trunk and pulled out a small stack of photographs, each as crisp as the day they were printed. Smiling, he and Harry waved to the camera, holding hands. _Flip_. He and Harry dressed up for the Yule Ball, Harry dressed in green and Draco dressed in red. _Flip_. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco smiling to the camera on their last day at Hogwarts. _Flip. _Just over a year of memories paraded before him. _Flip._ The last picture caught his eye. Their room, just below the Owlry, in a secluded part of the tower stared at him, shards of moonlight flooding through the windows. Harry lay propped up against the wall of the window seat, his naked chest reflecting the pale moonlight. He shifted slightly as he woke, the throw over his middle sliding off of him. Harry beckoned to the camera, smiling sweetly.   
  
Draco set the pictures down, and pulled out of the trunk a sweater, given to Harry by Molly Weasley during their last Christmas together. It was frayed on the collar and cuffs, but the red and gold were as vibrant as ever. Draco sank his nose into the fibers, sniffing strongly. He smelled Harry, a mixture of sunny days and red applesauce. He squeezed the garment tightly, praying that Harry was safe and unhurt. Regardless of the past, he still cared for him.  
  
He was so immersed in the memories of the man he loved that he didn't hear the door opening, nor did he hear Ginny Weasley, a tall, gangly red-head cross to him. A hand shook his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts. Draco, are you alright? She asked cautiously. Draco turned his face to her. He had forgotten all about the weekly dinner that they had together, ever since he left Hogwarts and became Snape's assistant.  
  
I'm fine, Ginny. I forgot all about our dinner though. The house-elves should have it ready by now. He rose, shutting the trunk carefully and sliding it back under the bed.   
  
As always, Draco. She took his arm, and they walked out of the dusty room together.  
  
Dinner was served out on the balcony, and the two diners ate heartily, while making small talk. Ginny Weasley sat across from Draco, her soft brown eyes making him remember the three short months they dated, and how she had finally broken it off. She hadn't been angry, or hurt, because she had also seen how entranced he was during their seventh. He loved Harry.  
  
Draco, are you listening to me? She asked, taking hold of his hand.   
He searched his memory for a hint of what they were talking about, but couldn't find anything. So he guessed. We were talking about Bertie Bott's new bean flavor - book page, wasn't it?  
  
Ginny laughed. No, silly. Smiling, she reached down into her purse, and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Ginny was a new reporter for the _Daily Prophet_, and with Lavender Brown, they had plans to conquer the world of journalism. Several of their Death Eater stories had gotten favorable responses from the wizarding community. Draco assumed that this was another article.  
  
She handed him the crisp parchment, and he took it. His eyes darted quickly over each word, taking it in. A realization dawned on him, what exactly all of this meant. His heart leapt at the idea, but at the same time, something else nagged at him. What it was, he couldn't tell, but it was important.  
  
Does this mean what I think it means, Ginny? Ginny nodded once, and explained.  
  
It does. Lavender and I did the research, and someone at the Ministry isn't talking. I don't know who, and I certainly don't know why, but I intend to find out. If this means that Who-Know-Who is finished, then whoever finished him deserves a hero's welcome.  
  
Might it be Harry? He asked softly; this was always a touchy subject for the two of them. Ginny had broken them up because she felt, and rightly so, that Draco loved Harry, and that no one else would be suitable for him. She, although a realist, still didn't have to be happy about such things, and for several weeks afterwards, they did not speak of him, until Ginny had brought it up.  
  
I don't know. What we do know is that throughout all of these attacks, no one has been caught. Every one of them is suspected of being a Death Eater.  
  
_That would be something Harry would do, isn't it? _ Draco thought to himself after the desert had been served.  
  
  


*****  


  
Night had fallen, and Harry Potter crept down the nave of Westminster Abbey. He was not afraid of anyone discovering him - after all, he was still hidden under an invisibility charm. Harry simply liked to creep around - it reminded him of his Hogwarts days. The full moon cast eerie patterns on the floor, and Harry wondered if Professor Lupin had transformed safely, even with Severus watching over him.   
  
_Expiscor_ Oliver Wood. Harry whispered into the cavernous arches. His wand quivered, and then pointed to the right of where Harry was standing. Harry followed the wand, trying not to make too much noise as he walked down the geometric floor. Gothic arches and darkened stained glass windows fit Harry's mood perfectly. He passed to the right of the choir, and glanced briefly at his wand to make sure that he was on the correct path. The wand hadn't wavered. _Poet's Corner, is it Oliver?_ Harry thought as he crept closer. He stepped lightly, his footfalls barely registering on the ground. Harry entered the Poet's Corner, stopping for only a moment to make out the rose window that soared above the transept.   
  
Harry entered the Poet's Corner, a monument in stone to the achievements of seven centuries of English and British authors, poets and composers. George Frederick Handel, Geoffery Chaucer, Thomas Hardy and Charles Dickens all had their tombs there, but Harry was not interested in the history of the place. Rather, his attention was drawn to his wand, which pointed to the left of William Shakespeare's monument. Harry's breath stopped, and he expelled all extraneous thoughts as the _Finite Incantatum_ passed his lips.   
  
Harry knew that he could be seen. In fact, that's what he was counting on. Wood's time was up.  
  


*****  


  
Oliver Wood had hidden beside William Shakespeare's monument, and had erected the strongest invisibility charm that he knew to hide him. He knew that it was scant comfort against a very determined Potter, but it did eliminate any Muggles stumbling upon him. His senses were alert, watching and waiting for any sign that he had been found by anyone other than a Muggle.  
  
Footsteps perked his ears up - they weren't very loud, but they were regular. Oliver readied his wand. The footsteps came closer, but no one was there. Or at least, no one that he could see. His breath came faster, and it was only with great control that he regulated it. The feet stopped, and a moment later, Harry Potter materialized in front of him. He watched as Potter moved around the small open chamber as if peering into the shadows.  
  
Wood come out. I need to talk to you. This all has been a misunderstanding. Harry's voice was pleading with him. _Misunderstanding my ass_, Oliver told himself. A misunderstanding? Oliver projected his voice to come from Thomas Hardy's monument. I somehow can't believe that the murder of a dozen wizards is a misunderstanding.   
  
Harry chuckled deeply, and walked to where Oliver's voice had come from. It was on their part. It too bad that our master, he said with great contempt couldn't be here to see the end of his reign of terror. Harry raised his wand as if to strike, and Oliver took the opportunity to take off the invisibility charm, and whisper _Avada Kedvara!_ A burst of green light shot out of the end of his wand, and sped toward Harry. At the last possible second, Harry ducked to one side, and the curse hit Thomas square in the nose. Harry whirled around, and faced Oliver.  
  
You knew I was there, was the disappointed Oliver's only comment.  
  
Of course. Came the terse reply. They circled each other, locked in combat, neither one daring to take his eyes off the other even for a moment. Harry threw the next curse. he said masterfully, and a purple light hit Oliver's left foot. The foot in question began to dance uncontrollably, and Oliver became unstable and fell over onto the floor. Before he could get the curse removed, Harry cried and Oliver flew backwards into a 16th century poet's worn tomb, while his wand flew into Harry's hand.  
  
Oliver's face, which before had held onto a small grip of victory, now sagged in total defeat as Harry pocketed his wand. Potter - Harry, you wouldn't really kill me, would you? We've been through so much together--  
  
You chose the easy way out. One Muggle killed your brother. Not all. Just one. Oliver's face darkened slightly as he remembered his thirst for vengeance leading him to Voldemort in the first place. Just as, Harry whispered softly all wizards did not kill my parents. Death Eaters did.  
  
And you became one yourself. Oliver remarked sarcastically  
  
Harry chuckled, a small gleam of cunning in his eyes. I did, didn't I?  
  
Judge not, lest ye be judged, Potter.   
  
I intend to be judged. Harry raised his wand and a moment later, Oliver's breath left his body for the last time. Looking around, Harry made sure the now cooling body was in a prominent position. _I'm going home,_ the dark haired man thought, before Disapparating.  
  


*****  


  
Hermione Granger-Weasley's dreams had been tormented for two weeks, ever since the Death Eater attacks had stopped on the general wizarding population. Her dream was the same every night - and it haunted her.  
  
  
_Harry, stop. Hermione told him as he stormed across the common room. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and whirled around, his eyes furious.  
  
What do you want, Hermione? He asked shortly.  
  
I wanted to talk to you about something. She replied, getting up out of the chair she had occupied until then. Hermione crossed the room to Harry, and gazed into his face. His green eyes softened slightly under her gaze, but they still burned.  
  
He asked a second time.  
  
Harry, are you and Draco going to stop seeing each other? He faltered further, and it took him a moment to gather his wits. He barked out a laugh, and shook his head.  
  
What makes you say that, Hermione? His voice was razor thin, and Hermione sensed that she was walking on fairly thin ground.   
  
Well, you and he haven't seen each other recently, and you been so distant with all of us, Harry. Ron and I are worried about you.  
  
_You_ were worried you mean? Harry towered over her, his face twisted in thought. It relaxed after a moment, and she tensed just a little, unsure of where this was leading.  
  
I am. Ron is too, well, less so, but he still is concerned.  
  
Have you talked to Draco?  
  
It was Hermione's turn to freeze. It was involuntary, but she froze just for the briefest moment all the same, as she remembered her aunt and uncle's bodies laying on the lawn, perfectly calm, the victims of the Killing Curse. Draco had killed them, and the wounds still were raw. I haven't.  
  
Perhaps you should try talking to him. Harry said curtly, and turned to climb the stairs to his dormitory. Hermione grabbed his elbow, and refused to let go.  
  
Harry, what is this all about? You've become distant, you don't enjoy any of the things that you used to, you're not seeing Draco--  
  
Harry cut her short. How would you know? He told her, his voice rising. Are you so privileged as a prefect that you can in fact see what goes on in private? Leave me alone, and mind your own business! He shouted, loud enough to have one of the other prefects open his door and yell for quiet. He shook her hand away from his elbow and smoothed his robe.  
  
Hermione repeated a little more forcefully as she stepped around him and prevented him from heading up the stairs.  
  
Harry fumed, and they stayed there, staring at each other for a few terse moments. Finally Harry broke the silence, Out of my way, Mudblood. Harry spat, pushing Hermione aside and stomping up the stairs.  
  
Those simple words, which Hermione thought she had insulated herself from, broke open new wounds as her friend retreated to his room. For a long time she stood leaning against the wall, lost in thought.  
  
  
_ The usual _click_ of the front door woke Hermione from her dream; she had never been a heavy sleeper, and the past few weeks had make her crave sleep even less. Her eyes flew open, and her heart began to pound as she contemplated who it might be. A pat to her right revealed a lump she identified as a sleeping Ron. Their two year old, Arthur, slept soundly in the next room, she was sure of it. A quick glance to the clock on the table showed that it was just past two thirty in the morning. She rolled over, hoping that it had simply been a figment of her imagination.  
  
The creak of a floorboard downstairs confirmed that it was not. Someone was there. Shaking Ron with one hand, she grabbed her wand with the other. Hermione whispered. Someone's downstairs.  
  
The party's not for another hour, mum... Ron mumbled as he rolled over taking more duvet with him.   
  
Ron, it might be a Death Eater. That certainly got his attention. As if Hermione had said the magic words, Ron's mind snapped awake, and years of training made his motions effortless. In one fluid action, he took his wand, jumped out of bed, and cautioned silence. Hermione followed right behind him out of their bedroom and into the hall.  
  
In the three years since they both had graduated from Hogwarts they had married and had a little boy named Arthur. Ron had gone into Auror training the summer they left Hogwarts, and never looked back. His obsession was Harry - he lived, breathed and dreamed about catching his former best friend. Hermione couldn't count the number of times that Ron had come home and told her that they had missed Harry again by mere moments.  
  
When Hermione told him about her recurring dream, he was a little paranoid about it, and told her that there had been a marked decline in Death Eater activity since her dreams began. Which didn't put her mind at rest, but she said nothing to him about it after that.   
  
Hermione had spent the past three years under Professor Vector's guidance, learning Higher Advanced Arthimancy so that ultimately, she could take over the professor's position, as she had earned a well deserved vacation, having taught at Hogwarts since the 1920's.  
  
They reached the stairs, and silenced their feet as they traveled down the hardwood steps. It was dark, the only light came from the streetlights outside the house, filtered in through curtains. Ron and Hermione reach the bottom of the staircase and peeked into the living room. Hermione could make out the shape of someone's head sitting in on of the armchairs. The figure was dressed in a heavy cloak, in addition to the various robes that they had on.  
  
Ron nodded to Hermione twice; they had a plan for emergencies like this. They would both cast the Stunner Spell at the same time, and then go investigate who it was. Minister Fudge had decreed that the Killing Curse could be used at suspected Death Eaters, but since neither of them knew who sat there, they would play it safe.  
  
Ron nodded a third time, and they stepped out into the doorway, raised their wands, and together shouted . The figure toppled over, unconscious for now, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Hermione and Ron walked into the room, and lit several lamps as they made their way to the figure. Hermione got there first, and pushed the man over so that she could see who it was.   
  
A hood partially covered his face, so she brushed that away. When she saw whose face it was, Hermione sank to her knees, her hand flying to her mouth. Ron came over to them, and stared at his former best friend. He raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and opened his mouth to utter the Killing Curse.  
  
Hermione said firmly, not looking up. Her brain, always logical, had furiously begun to try to fit the known facts together, and hypothize why Harry Potter lay on her living room rug.  
  
This is a perfect opportunity to kill one of the worst Death Eaters Hermione! Ron kept his wand trained at Harry's face.  
  
Ron, think about it logically. Why would Harry come back to us if he knew what you would do to him? It just doesn't make sense. Hermione tried reasoning it out, grasping at every scrap of information that she had, but it made no difference - she couldn't figure out why Harry had come to them.  
  
Did Potter's becoming a traitor make sense? Did it make sense that he would betray our entire world? His parents? No, it didn't. He dies, now. Ron took a step closer and found that Hermione had risen, and placed her hand on the end of his wand.  
  
No, Ron. I want to know what this is about.  
  
Have you lost your mind, Hermione? Ron's voice rose slightly, and Hermione braced herself. This is Harry Potter, the Death Eater Who Lived'. Not our Harry. Our Harry is dead. Have you forgotten the past three years? The Quidditch World Cup? Hermione shook her head no. Good. Move your hand. This Potter dies here.  
  
Ron, wait a minute. I know that you hate him, but something just isn't right here; he wouldn't come to all of this trouble just to be Stunned and then killed in our house. There is a reason for his return, and I for one am going to find out what it is.  
  
The fiery red of Ron's hair spread to his face, and he shook his head. Fine. When this is over, he will face justice. We've lost too many lives... His baritone voice trailed off, and Hermione went to him and wrapped herself around him, slowly rubbing circles on his back, trying to soothe her husband of two years.   
  
I'm going to owl the headmaster, and advise him of the situation. He may be able to give us some insight into this situation. Hermione let him go, and went briefly into the kitchen. Ron heard the scratching of quill and parchment, and Pigwidgeon's excited hooting at being sent out at night. A few minutes later, she came back out into the living room. I sent it off. For now, let's go back to bed - he's not going anywhere.  
  
They extinguished the lights and went back upstairs. After checking on Arthur, making sure that he was still asleep, they fell asleep themselves.  
  


*****  
  


Cornelius Fudge stalked through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic flanked by two grim faced Aurors. Minor functionaries and beauracrats dove out of his way as he forcefully made his way, and a few muttered good mornings' reached his ears. He was not having a good morning, and it showed. His normally snappy dressing was slightly rumpled and his hair was slightly out of place.  
  
The Minister of Magic for Great Britain pushed the double doors of the conference room aside, and scanned the table for the appropriate number of people. The seven heads of department rose to greet Fudge, and he muttered a reply. They all sat down, Fudge at the head of the polished table and the seven heads along either side.   
  
Fudge pulled out of his cloak pocket a small, round Pensive, the kind issued to Aurors to record the scene of any crime for future records. He set it down in the middle of the table, dimmed the lights, and pulled out of it a memory, which played itself out right above the assembled heads.  
  
This Pensive memory was culled this morning, from Westminster Abbey. The Death Eater in question is Oliver Wood. His body was found in the position that you see it, and once this memory was taken and stored, two Aurors removed it, and applied several Memory charms to the Muggles visiting the Abbey. Fudge began to pace around the room as the sight of Oliver's body, sprawled out on the marble floor replayed itself over and over again. This much we know - no Aurors, nor any other Ministry employees had anything to do with this death. While the death of so many Death Eaters over the course of the past two weeks and the resulting decline in their activities is far from unwelcome, the Ministry of Magic must ask itself why this is happening. Why are Death Eaters suddenly dying? Who is responsible for these attacks?  
  
Abar Knowles, head of Magical Law Enforcement leaned forward and peered at Fudge over thin wire-rimmed glasses, taking a good hard look at the Minister. Knowles did not trust Fudge very much, because even though the Minister took steps to allow the use of the Killing Curse and other more drastic measures against actual and suspected Death Eaters, Knowles did not agree with Fudge's decision to suspend the right of trial, and believed that Fudge was conspiring to take more power for himself and his position in wizarding society. The head of the Magical Law Enforcement department was above all things fair.  
  
Minister Fudge, he began, his tenor filling the room, you cannot expect an answer less that twelve hours after a crime has been committed. It was a wizard; that much is obvious. However, drawing any conclusions at this time seems to me to be a little it premature.  
  
Fudge smiled at this - a certain scene, almost twenty years ago, coming back to him. Knowles cowering before Fudge, then agreeing to him proposal. Knowles needed to remain independent and obstinant, but he could always be counted on to do Fudge's dirty work.  
  
Kilroy Burgo, a tall, narcissistic man was one of Minister Fudge's best kept secrets. He had replaced Barty Crouch as head of International Magical Cooperation - but he had been hand-picked by the Minister to succeed him. Burgo owed everything to Fudge, and it was thought that while the two men were friends, there was nothing more to their relationship. But Fudge had helped Burgo rise to where he was, and Burgo couldn't say no to the Minister, and he never did. Thus Fudge simply had to feed Kilroy Burgo a few morsels of information, and out they would come as Burgo's own. Shouldn't we be a little worried that this wizard might come after us next? Fudge smiled, and leaned against the table.  
  
I am a little concerned, yes. However, I have outlined a few precautions that can be taken to protect us and our families. Fudge finally stopped the Pensive, and on one of the walls, an outline appeared, giving the assembled heads a view of the plan. The table erupted in chatter as they discussed what lay before them.  
  
Arthur Weasley's frown got deeper and more pronounced the further down the document he read. Minister Fudge, this has gone too far. These proposals are nothing more than a blatant attempt to take more control of the Ministry and reach into the lives of the average wizard. I for one will not support this proposal.  
  
The Minister took a good hard look at Arthur, and surveyed the other heads to gauge their reaction. Knowles was expectedly scowling, and Burgo was the opposite; Ludo Bagman and the other heads wore neutral expressions. Arthur, we have been friends for a long time, Fudge said, honey coating his every word, and I respect you personally. The Muggle Protection Act has done much good for the wizarding world. However, I think it's a bit hasty to allow personal ideas of freedom into a war. His expression became more serious, and he looked into the faces of each department head. I would hate to have a family member die because you failed to protect them. Fudge said ominously.   
  
Our protection is fine, the Aurors have seen to that. Knowles told the group. And I for one have better things to do than to sit here and debate Fudge's latest scheme to gain power for himself and his cronies. There was a shocked silence as Abar Knowles rose from his seat and left the room. Several of the department heads exchanged worried glances, and then excused themselves as well. Ludo Bagman and Arthur Weasley followed suit a moment later, leaving only Kilroy Burgo and Cornelius Fudge in the room. Burgo glanced at the door, making sure it was shut. Fudge smiled, and sat back down at his place.  
  
What are you going to do about the proposal, Cornelius? Burgo asked.  
  
It will be taken care of. For now, the proposal will be set aside for more pressing matters. Weasley and Knowles will come around soon, I'm sure. He smiled again, and nodded his head when Burgo asked to leave.   
  
_They will come around. They will have to. When I am done with their families, they will beg me for protection. _Fudge chuckled and closed the door behind him as he left the small conference room. There was much work to be done.  
  


*****  
  


What do you plan to do with him Hermione? Draco and Ginny will be here in less than an hour. Ron's voice stressed, hoping to make her see reason. They had moved Harry onto the couch, where he lay, still Stunned.  
  
What do I plan to do with him? We are in this together, Ronald Weasley. Her hands flew to her hips, and she planted herself, preparing for a long argument with him. She would only call him that if she really wanted her own way - which in this case she did. We need to wake him up, and then we can find out what's going on. As for Draco and Ginny, if need be we can always stun him again.  
  
Ron sighed, and pulled his wand out. Okay, let's do this then. I really think we're making a mistake here, though.  
  
Ron, we owe it to Harry to get all of this straightened out. I don't think he would have simply let us stun him last night if he had truly had evil intentions. She told him matter-of-factly.   
  
They joined their wands, and stated clearly, . A bluish light shot of the end of their wands, and hit Harry in the forehead, dissapating over it. Within moments, he groaned, and his hand fumbled to his head.  
  
How long was I out? He asked groggily as he sat up on the back of the couch.   
  
Potter, I would like to get this over with, Ron began. You know the punishments for being a Death Eater, we just-- Hermione cut him off.  
  
Why have you come back Harry? Her rich alto voice questioned, her eyes looking him over, taking him in for the first time in nearly three years.  
  
He had changed, that much was obvious. His eyes were no longer open, instead they guarded his inner secrets, and flickered around the room, looking for any hostile movement. Harry's unruly hair, which he had begun to grow out in his seventh year, now reached the middle of his shoulder blades, and he had obviously spent many hours pulling it back. His face was lined with a few tell-tale hex mark depressions, and although he had removed the worst of them, there were still a few lingering. He grown a little since she had last seem him, and he was just as wiry and lanky as she remembered him to be.  
  
Hermione kept returning to his eyes. They were dangerous, the mark of a man who had lived on the edge of existence, carefully watching and waiting, playing games against both friends and enemies. Time would tell, she mused, what would happen next.   
  
Why have I come back? I promised someone that I would. Harry said simply, his eyes taking on a far away look.  
  
Oh is that all? Ron sneered.  
  
he replied groggily, still shaking off the effects of being out for that long.  
  
In case you have forgotten, Potter, there is a price on your head. I am an Auror, and as such, have a duty to kill you. I get the money regardless. Fudge wants all Death Eaters dead.  
  
Go ahead, Harry stood, his cloak unfolding around him. It doesn't matter.  
  
Ron grinned. After the hunt, victory tastes so sweet--  
  
It was Draco, wasn't it? Hermione said. She had done some quick thinking, and that was the only possible conclusion that she could draw. Harry must have, at some point during their seventh year at Hogwarts, promised Draco that after it was all over, he would come back. Harry nodded, and sank back into the couch.  
  
Ron grew more furious. You mean that you came back because you promised Draco Harry showed no sign of being surprised at that statement that you would come back one day and whisk him away to Voldemort? After what you've done to him--to us?  
  
Ron was red, more red than Hermione could remember him. His breathing was heavy, and his grip on his wand made his knuckles white. Ron shook with fury at his former best friend, who closed his eyes briefly and replied, Voldemort's dead Ron. As are most of the other Death Eaters. I killed them.  
  
There was a heavy silence in the room as the news washed over both Ron and Hermione. Ron's face went from anger to disbelief and Hermione's took on the deep thinking mask that she wore from time to time. Bloody hell! Ron exclaimed, his features expressing total and utter disbelief at the news. Hermione was silent, the wheels of her brain turning very fast, putting all of the clues together. Finally, it all slipped into place.  
  
You never really went over to Voldemort, did you? Ron gaped at her, and Harry smiled.  
  
Hermione, you never cease to amaze me. I did go over to him physically, but my mind, I resisted. The darkness was all around me, trying to seduce me. Every Muggle I killed, every wizard I tortured, every spell I cast in the service of Voldemort brought me closer to him. I was his star, the best Death Eater he had - his second. That wasn't surprising to either of the other two in the large room. My mind wavered on loyalty to him. I had to be totally committed, in order to get close enough to destroy him, but in the process, the darkness overtook me, enveloping me more and more each time I cast a Dark Arts curse. Harry hung his head, and Hermione noted that Ron took almost a sadistic satisfaction in the fact that Harry had not come to grips with his actions.  
  
Hermione glanced down at her watch, and frowned. They're going to be here at any moment. Harry--in the kitchen.  
  
Who's coming? Harry asked as he stood up again. What's going on?  
  
No one's coming, Potter. Just get in the kitchen, and stay there. Don't say a single word, if you value your life. No one must know that you're here. Ron glared at him. Hermione knew that it would take a lot for him to speak civilly to Harry. She didn't like the idea of Harry Potter sitting in their living room after all of this time, there was too much between them. But the least he could do is be civil to him.   
  
Once Harry had been placed in the kitchen, Hermione and Ron flopped next to each other on the overstuffed couch, and waited for their guests to arrive.   
  


*****  
  


Ginny Weasley was a woman who knew what she wanted, and was willing to take no prisoners in order to achieve it. A star reporter for the _Daily Prophet_, she had two years of experience under her belt, and that was only the beginning. She had traveled all around the world, finding out what other magical nations were doing to stop Voldemort and his supporters, and reporting on it. Her crowning moment came during the Quidditch World Cup, when none other than Harry Potter had whisked by her on his broomstick, and she had followed him.   
  
Of course, if this article was any indication, she would have a much bigger and better story on her hands once it was published. She positively tingled when she and Lavender were writing it.   
  
Today, she and Draco were going over to Ron and Hermione's house for lunch, and a quiet afternoon of conversation. She could picture it now - Draco brooding over Harry and the latest from the newspapers; Ron trying to do his best to convince Draco that Harry is evil, Hermione playing wife, mother, sister in law, councilor, friend, confidant and cook all at once. And herself? Ginny saw herself sitting back into the thick couch and listening, taking in every word that everyone said. She was good at that.  
  
Ginny had Apparated from her flat, and was supposed to have met Draco five minutes ago in the entryway of Malfoy Manor. She alerted Harvey, one of Draco's house-elves, of her presence, and waited for him. She looked at herself critically in one of the floor-to-ceiling gilt mirrors, and was pleased with what she saw. Long, straight red hair had been pulled back out of her face; her freckles having mostly disappeared, so she didn't need to hide behind bangs. Warm brown eyes stared back at her.  
  
You will make one man very happy someday. Draco said, entering the foyer with a flourish. Ginny felt a ping of regret. _It could have been you._   
  
As will you, Draco. She replied, turning to him. In reply, he pulled out his wand, lit a fire, and threw a pinch of Floo powder into it. He leaped into the fire, and Ginny followed moments later.  
  
When they arrived at the fireplace and stepped out, Ron and Hermione lounged on the couch, seemingly content. Ever observant, Ginny noticed that something was out of place, because Hermione kept glancing nervously at the kitchen door .  
  
Is there anything wrong, Hermione? You seem a little bit on edge. Ginny asked her. For her part Hermione turned the slightest shade of pink, confirming Ginny's suspicions that something was up.  
  
No, nothing's wrong. We're fine. And you?  
  
Fine as well. Draco answered, sitting down.  
  
Is there anything we can get you? Ron asked, standing up. Even he looked a little nervous, and since Ron's Auror training, nothing seemed to phase him.  
  
Actually there is. Do you have any pumpkin juice? It was Ginny's favorite and insisted on having one glass a day.  
  
We do. Hermione, why don't you help me pour some for Ginny. Draco, do you want anything? Draco shook his head in response. Ron and Hermione went into the kitchen, and shut the door behind them.   
  
Ginny and Draco sat side by side on one of the over-stuffed couches, not speaking to each other. Ginny had just opened her mouth when Draco stood up decively, and strode over to the door separating the two rooms. She wondered what was up, and followed him in.  
  


*****  
  


Draco knew that something was wrong when they had Floo'd over; and he resolved at that moment to find out what it was. Ron and Hermione had been acting strangely since he arrived, and he couldn't think of any reason why they would act that way. He gathered himself up, and pushed the door to the kitchen open, letting it _thud_ against the wall.  
  
Whatever he had been expecting, seeing Harry Potter sitting on a stool in Granger-Weasley house was certainly not one of them. His mind reeled, overcome with a thousand emotions, each threatening to shut his brain down. There was attraction - Harry's face still called to him, strong yet vunerable. Revultion - Draco's hated himself for wanting Harry, for being willing to forget the past three years, and those few days in which everything was a blur. Curiosity - he wanted to know what happened to Harry, as the _Daily Prophet _was not known for their objective reporting. Finally, there was love - Draco's stomach grew warm as he thought about Harry, studing the deep lines under his eyes, the few hex-scars that lingered, those green gems that used to be so full of life...  
  
Draco licked his lips, and steeled himself against the tempation to bundle Harry up and take him home, instead opting for a cold stare. It hurt him to see a moment of joy flash across Harry's face before he saw that Harry's sullen mask had returned under his gaze.  
  
_I will be strong._ Draco repeated to himself, as he fully entered the room. He felt Ginny behind him, and he glanced at Ron and Hermione quickly, searching their faces.  
  
What is he doing here? Draco said icily, noticing that Harry became more sullen afterwards.  
  
Ron opened his mouth, but was stopped by his wife. We can explain Draco. At least, I think we can.  
  
Get to it then.   
  
Hermione took a breath, and began Harry's come back because he killed Voldemort.  
  
Ginny exclaimed from her perch behind Draco. Is this true? Harry simply nodded in reply.  
  
And - he promised someone he'd come back after it was all over. Hermione's stare bored into him, penitrating his defences. _If Harry's come back, then it's true_. Draco thought to himself, all the while moving closer to Harry's stool. He felt a little guilty - after all, he hadn't forgotten about Harry's promise - he could hardly think of anything else.   
  
Draco, I-- Harry began haltingly, unsure of what he was supposed to say. His warm voice called to Draco, beckoning him foward. Draco felt his two feet move towards Harry's stool, and suddenly, wrapping himself around Harry.  
  
Shhh. Don't say anything right now. Draco rocked the slightly taller man and felt almost as if the past three years hadn't happened. Draco decided then and there, what he must do. We need to talk, and soon Harry. About everything. He told Harry curtly, breaking the embrace. For right now, why doesn't Ginny get her pumpkin juice, and we'll go back to the living room and listen to Harry explain a few things?  
  


*****  
  


From the moment that Draco had entered the house, Harry's stomach did not want to settle down. He sat quietly on a stool in the Weasley kitchen, his eyes closed and trying not to breathe too loudly. When Draco spoke, Harry's heart wanted to break. Remorse for his actions during those few days flooded him, overwhelming everything else. _I was following orders,_ Harry thought, but immediately retracted that thought. _Liar. Orders didn't tell you to take him. Orders didn't tell you to let him go. _ Harry hoped and prayed that Draco would even want to talk to him - he had come back after Voldemort's downfall.  
  
Hermione came into the kitchen, followed closely behind by Ron. Ginny wants pumpkin juice. Ron said, to no one in particular. You want a glass? Harry nodded, because he had been warned not to speak. Ron poured the glass, and handed it back to him.   
  
Thank you. Harry said, and he realized what he had done. Ron and Hermione both froze, and the seconds ticked by impossibly slow. After a count to ten, there was a collective _sigh, _and that was precicely when Draco walked into the kitchen.  
  
For the briefest of moments Harry got a good look at him. He had grown ever so little over the past year and a half, and he had let his hair grow out. His gray eyes still dazzled Harry, whether it be in anger or joy - they were the center of Harry's attention. Draco was a little flushed, and his mouth became pinched and pouty. Harry almost smiled - Draco had gestured that way almost involuntarily, but had masked over any joy in seeing Harry immediately afterwards.   
  
Harry hung his head, and waited for someone to speak. His thoughts drifted to happier times, recieving letters by owl from him while he was in Egypt, the countless hours spent in the room below the Owlry, their second kiss. A few months of happiness warmed him.  
  
Draco asked Is this true? Harry searched his brain for what they were talking about, and when he found it, he nodded.  
  
Harry looked for something to say, anything to say, that might smooth things over a little bit. He wanted nothing more than at this moment to be greeted with a smile from his love. He knew that it might be impossible to get it, after everything that had happened, but he wouldn't give up easily.   
  
Draco, I-- He began haltingly. He couldn't continue. He was so relieved that Draco was there, just being in the same room with him was a joy. But he couldn't continue speaking, because he didn't know how to begin. Begin being forgiven for all of the anguish that he had caused over the past three years.  
  
Suddenly, he was enveloped by thick black robes. Thin arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, and Harry sighed into them. Whatever might come in the days and weeks ahead, he would always remember that moment, because it gave him hope that he and Draco might be reconciled.   
  
The embrace was broken all too quickly, and they were sheparded into the living room, and Harry cleared his throat.  
  
I guess I should begin at the beginning of all of this. It was the summer of my seventh year, and I had just arrived back at Privet Drive... Harry began, and the other three dove into a summer that would change everything.  
  
A/N - Well, that was fun, wasn't it? This first chapter has been a journey of almost 6 months to get ready, and so there are several people I need to that. The first are my wonderful betas - Nancy and Adi, without both of whom this could not have been completed. Also many thanks to Tine and Mara, without whom much of the work could not have been even started. Also thanks (in advance) to Verdant, Piri and Earthquake1906, all of whom have had some impact onto the text enclosed here. Special thanks also go out to Adi, whose amazing artwork I will link here at a later date. Perhaps with the coming of chapter 2? As I write later chapters, I may tweak chapter 1 and previous chapters every so often, if something needs to be changed. So take a look back every now and then to see if chapter one remains the same. It might be little things, or it might be a new scene or two. Also - don't forget to review my little story! C.


	2. Chapter 2 Plans and Explanations

Sacrifice  
Chapter 2  
Plans and Explanations  
  


Disclaimer - Again, not mine.  


  


It was a grumbling stomach that stopped Harry from continuing his journey into the Dark Arts.  
  
Why did you stop, Potter? We were just beginning to hear about your life as a Death Eater. I'm just so fascinated. Ron snorted sarcastically, leaning back into the soft cushions of the couch.   
  
My name is Harry, Ron. I suggest you use it. Harry replied, trying to keep a tight reign on his emotions. His innards churned with the effort not to whip out his wand and curse Ron into oblivion. It wasn't that he insisted that Ron use his first name - but not to use his last with such scorn.   
  
I am an Auror, and I call all Death Eaters by their last names--Potter.   
  
Is all that you think I am? Harry's voice rose a little, matching Ron's. A Death Eater? Would a Death Eater have come back to the wizarding world, to normal society and practically beg to be dealt with?  
  
Whatever you may think, whatever motives you may have, you, Ron accented the last word, and pointed at him. are nothing but a Death Eater, and will remain so. When word gets out about you being here, I almost pity you. The only thing standing between you and the Dementor's kiss is the four of us, and I for one will waste no time in asking for it.  
  
Ron finished, and dropped his hand. Harry's mind raced around the possibilities, trying to grip what would be the best option, how to respond. A split second later, Harry nodded to Ron, and said If that's  
how you feel--  
  
You're right that's how I feel.   
  
  
  
Whatever Ron was expecting Harry to say, that was not it. For a moment his face registered confusion as the words sunk in, and then it turned back to anger.  
  
I will see you pay, Potter. He said darkly.  
  
Hermione interrupted the conversation, trying to cool the room down a little bit. Does anyone want lunch? Ron, why don't you get lunch ready while I check on Arthur. Harry, will you come with me?  
  
The two of them stood and went up the front stairs. Harry followed Hermione down the hallway, stopping and looking at all of the photographs that lined the walls, both wizard and Muggle. There were many photographs of Ron and Hermione, at Hogwarts, on their wedding day, going on holiday in France, spending time with Draco and Ginny, and enjoying life together. Several other photographs were of various Weasleys or Grangers, or both, including several of the Grangers getting a taste of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Canary Creams.   
  
Harry stopped and looked at the last photograph hanging on the wall. It was encased in a silver frame, and was a clipping from an old Daily Prophet. The headline read One Year Later and had a picture of Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron and Neville standing in front of the Staff table in the Great Hall.  
  
That's the only picture of you that we have. Ron destroyed all of the others. I kept it in my office at Hogwarts, in a drawer. I thought that it was important to keep, because otherwise we would have lost our link with you. I cannot forget what you've done to our world Harry. When you betrayed us, it was like a knife through the heart. No one could believe it. People thought it was a joke that the three of us had whipped up. No one knows what happened on the train, nor what happened between you and I at school. Harry put his arm around her shoulder, but she pushed it off. No. You can't expect to come in here and for it to be alright. It's not. Ron may be openly angry with you - but he is right. There are very few people that will welcome you back. I am trying to, but there are things that I cannot and will not forget about.  
  
Hermione, I'm sorry. Harry, during all of this, even when she had pushed his hand away, had not taken his eyes off of her. He knew that it wouldn't be easy; and he knew that all that he had worked for, they had worked against. An apology would not be enough, but it was a beginning.  
  
I know you are, Harry. This time, she melted into his strong frame, wrapping her thin arms around his waist. They stood like that for some time, just letting the world pass them by. Throughout his time with Voldemort, Harry had clung to two things in his experience there. The first was the memory of Draco - strong, confidant and collected, his knight in armor. The second was his friendship with Ron and Hermione, which had been his rock for seven years. Although it could never be the way it was, with the three of them sneaking around Hogwarts at night, or the balance that each of them played to the other, Harry wished that on some level they could have a piece of that back.  
  
She pulled away from him, thin arms smoothing down her green t-shirt. We owled Dumbledore about your return. Of anyone in the world, he would be the one to help you. I know it seems implausible, but--  
  
Harry cut her off. Hermione, he knows. Just then, Arthur cried, and Hermione rushed into his room, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.   
  
He slumped against the wall, and closed his eyes, listening to Hermione change her son quickly. He drifted on a cloud, dreaming of life without Voldemort, where he and Draco could have been together for all of this time. A smile crept across his face as he remember Draco graphically telling Ron _exactly_ what two boys did together, and Ron cringing, turning red and burrowing into Hermione's shoulder, yelling stop!' stop!'. Ron really was a good friend, dependable, even if he didn't want to know the details of he and Draco's lives together. It felt good to smile, a real, heartfelt smile, something expressed out of the joy of life, not the sadistic pleasure of death.   
  
He started to chuckle, and warmth spread over his chest, as his mood soared. A real laugh came out of his mouth, and it surprised him, caused him to slip on the waxed pine floor. His head skimmed the wall as he tumbled to the ground, limbs flailing to catch himself. Harry landed with a _bump_ and continued to laugh, so much that it hurt. He clutched his sides, and simply laughed, a melody that he had not heard in months.  
  
Hermione came out of Arthur's room, cradling the boy in her arms. Harry lifted his tear-stained face, and laughed again.   
  
What's so funny? She asked, slightly cross.   
  
Just remembering something, answered Harry, and he chuckled again, his sides beginning to hurt just a little. When Draco told Ron how you-- He was cut off by a stern look from a very perturbed mother.  
  
Not in front of the baby, Harry.  
  
I don't think he can understand us yet.  
  
Madam Kirk says that children can understand speech as early as six months. Arthur will be seven in three days. I don't want to take that chance. Her frown broke just a little. Although Ron's expression was pretty funny.  
  


*****  
  


You wanted to see me, Minister? Justin Fitch-Fletchly asked, his well groomed fingers tapping against the fine velvet of the chair. Justin, in the three years since he had graduated from Hogwarts, had put his aristocratic upbringing to good use, having become legitimately attached to the Ambassador of Magic to the United States, Peter Stonescraft. His official function was Auror attaché - however, Justin also worked for the Minister of Magic directly. Several high-ranking members of the Isolationists, a movement akin to the Death Eaters had mysteriously disappeared during Justin's visits to the United States.  
  
Both men sitting in the spacious office that muggy August day knew what Justin did - he was never called by the Minister of Magic unless Fudge needed something done. He moved well in any situation, having spent an extra year in training in the Auror Academy preparing for this, as well as having been brought up in an aristocratic household. The diplomatic world was no stranger to Justin.  
  
He cocked his head to one side, studying the man sitting before him. Cornelius Fudge was a man to be reckoned with, and regardless of your thoughts on his politics, he had steamed the tide of Voldemort, and for that Justin was grateful. Fudge slid a small cube over to him.  
  
Take care of it, said Fudge, leaning back in his chair. Justin pocketed it, stood, nodded respectively to the man behind the desk, and left the room. He twisted through the byzantine maze of corridors, finally coming upon his own office, which was tucked away on the fourth floor. He unlocked it, went in, reset the wards, and sat down at his desk.   
  
Pulling the cube out of his black work robe's pocket, he set it down on his polished desk, and said _aperio crimen_. Suddenly, a cascade of images flew up from the cube, memories of witnesses seeing brief snatches of a criminal act. Colors, shapes and images flew by, some distinct, some not - giving Justin something to think about. Finally, a clear image of a woman, about middle height, fiery red hair holding a wand to someone's neck. Her left sleeve fell slightly as she lifted her wand just a little higher. The beginnings of a clear Dark Mark was all that Justin needed to confirm his suspicions.   
  
He knew her well, in fact, he had dated her at one point. His wife and adopted son smiled back at him from a framed picture on the table. He looked again at the image of the woman just out of her teens, and began to make his preparations. This would take some doing, but it could be done. Personal feelings or none - this woman had become an enemy of the state and must be dealt with.  
  


*****  
  


Lunch was a very silent affair. Ron glared at Harry all though it, stabbing at his food with far more force than was necessary, noted Hermione. She sat across from him, and next to Ginny. Harry was seated at one of the ends and Draco at the other. Ginny seemed to be making _click_ing noices throughout the meal, it was apparently a way for her to organize her thoughts.  
  
Hermione sighed. _How did we get into this mess?_ She thought to herself as she picked silently at her own food. Her mind tried to find some way, any way out of this - but couldn't think of any. _Why did Harry come here? _That, and a thousand other questions floated, unanswered in her mind.   
  
The two men sitting at either end suddenly locked gazes, and it seemed as if everything else in the room just slid away. Hermione took to wondering what was going on between them; all that she could see was a slight change in Harry's pupil color - they went from a light green to forest in a few seconds. She shifted to Draco, whose steely gray eyes remained unchanged. Harry hung his head, and slumped down at the table.  
  
It seemed to Hermione that whatever they had felt for each other this morning had dissapated in the re-telling of the secret seventh year of Harry. She had listened to him tell all about his life; the letters, conquring Parkinson, recieving the Dark Mark, and the incident with her at the end of the year - that was probably the most painful for her personally. She wasn't sure what this exchange was about over lunch, but she made it her business to find out.  
  
Harry, would you come into the kitchen for a moment please? She asked carefully, not wanting to upset her already reddening husband.  
  
Hermione, don't you think that this is a little much? He asked through clentched teeth.   
  
No, I don't. She steeled her voice, and he backed off slightly. _I'll hear about this later_, she thought to herself as she pushed through the door to the kitchen.  
  
When the white door leading to the dining room had swung shut, Hermione turned and faced Harry, whose mouth had tightened and she knew instinctively that something was wrong. Harry, would you like to tell me what that was all about?   
  
She watched as he thought about her question, and responded No, I really wouldn't. Hermione was taken slightly aback; after all she had taken it upon herself to help him. A part of her wanted to leave him to his own devices, let him make his own mistakes, and ultimately fall. But a larger part of her wanted to see Harry happy once again; he deserved it after all that he had been through - they all did. I can't help you if you don't talk to me.  
  
Who says I want your help, Hermione? Draco and I have issues to deal with - our own issues to deal with. Stay out of it. There's nothing that you can do, alright? He said a little forcefully. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her. Stay out of it. He softened, Look, Hermione - I know you mean well, but this is between the two of us. She grudgingly aquiesced, after all, she reasoned, he did have a point. He turned to her, his eyes blazing with an intensity that she hadn't seen since he had come the previous night. I do need help with something though.   
  
Harry, I want to help. What is it?   
  
Help me get through to Ron. I know I've hurt him deeply, probably beyond repair, but if Draco gives me a reason to fight, I will. Her mind fought two battles at that moment - the first being that Harry had given something away between the two boys - a reason to live, and the second being that he did need help with something. Ron could be dealt with, and sooner rather than later. Hermione left the first alone, and began to settle on a course of action for the second.  
  
Harry, lets go back out into the dining room, I have something that I need to discuss with all of you. Hermione said matter-of-factly. A confused look crossed over Harry's face, after all, he had no idea what was going on.  
  
They crossed back into the dining room, and with a few flicks of her wand, the dishes had flown into the kitchen sink, and were undergoing a Washing & Drying Charm. She surveyed the human elements at the table, Draco was looking quite pensive, while Ginny and Ron stared at each other cautiously. Hermione took her seat, and Harry did the same. The other thee looked at them expectantly.  
  
Ginny, are there any stories in the works about the severe lack of Death Eater attacks? She asked the female redhead, who smiled.  
  
Why yes, Hermione there are. Ginny answered, and the intellect of Hermione went to work.  
  


*****  
  


Is the Sorting Hat ready for the Welcoming feast? A bespeckled and weary Minerva McGonagall asked the man sitting opposite her, Albus Dumbledore. They had been planning for the opening of school for several weeks now; getting house schedules together, planning events and having meetings. Lots of meetings. This was one of the very last before they could go back to their rooms and take a small mid afternoon break.   
  
Yes, I am, the echoing voice of the hat replied, still sitting on it's shelf. I've thought of a new rhyme scheme that should delight the students this year.  
  
Dumbledore replied, nodding to the frayed hat. Is there anything else, Minerva?  
  
One other-- As she spoke, an owl flew into the open turret window, cutting off conversation. The small owl, Pigwigeon by name, hooted loudly and hopped about the cluttered desk until Dumbledore fed the owl a small candied oat and untied the letter from the pouch. His brow furrowed deeply at the letter as Hermione had sent all of her class materials a week ago, as asked. He adjusted his glasses, and opened the parchment.  
  
_Dear Albus,  
  
Ron and I have a slight problem. We have a very uninvited guest at our house. We Stunned him, and are about to go to bed. Please advise. We await your return owl, although we would prefer it if you would come yourself.   
  
Hermione Granger-Weasley.  
  
_ He sighed deeply. This note could only concern one person. Harry Potter. Closing his heavy eyelids, he sighed again. He had obviously killed Voldemort, and had returned to pick up the pieces. Stroking his snowy beard, he thought about the day that Draco had dragged Harry into the very seat that Professor McGonagall was occupying, and made him tell Dumbledore what he had agreed to do. He had smiled that day at the obvious love between the two boys; unlike most of the wizarding world, he took the view that love is love, and no one should be excluded from it. Harry had spoken reluctantly about what he did, and why he did it; and Dumbledore had said very little throughout the conversation. He didn't want to lose Harry, but he was a realist. If it took a mole to destroy Voldemort, then so be it. Harry was strong enough.   
  
And now, he was proven right. Harry Potter had come back into their lives.   
  
Albus, are you alright? Professor McGonagall had moved forward in her chair, her eyes catching the sun.   
  
Oh yes, I'm fine. Just thinking about the past. Are we finished here? He asked, just a little too quickly. Minerva cocked her eyebrow up, but let it pass.   
  
We are. Good day, Albus. She rose, smoothing her summer work robes as she went. He waited until he had heard the gargoyle click shut, and then he stood and crossed to the fireplace. He reached onto the dusty mantle, and took down a jar of silvery powder. Quickly lighting a fire, he tossed a copious amount onto the flames, and they shot up seconds later in a shower of silver sparks.   
  
The Granger-Weasleys, said Albus, and he walked into the fireplace. Thick mortar, brick and stone whirled around him, faster and faster as he went across wizarding Britain by Floo. Suddenly, he was jolted to a stop as he realized he had almost missed the fireplace. His head wobbled around as he climbed out from under the mantle, and he whipped out his wand and muttered a cleaning charm as the occupants of the house came to see what all of the noise was.   
  
Ron, Hermione, Harry, Draco and Ginny all stood in the door to the kitchen, looking at the Headmaster brush himself off. Mister Weasley, you really should mark your fireplace more clearly, I almost missed it, he scolded Ron, as he properly entered the room. Ron mumbled an apology. Draco, Miss Weasley, nice to see you again as well.   
  
They both answered, taking a seat on one of the couches. Hermione and Ron moved aside, and sat down as well, leaving Albus and Harry looking at each other. Harry had changed in the three years since he had properly seen him. His hair was longer, and his eyes were weighted with the worries of the world. Albus wondered just how much he had seen over the past three years.  
  
There was so much to say, so many questions Albus wanted to ask the man standing across from him, that he could only say his name. Nothing else would come out.   
  
Harry replied, before dropping all defenses and running to him. Albus wrapped his thin, bony arms around the younger man, and stood there, giving Harry all of the support he could.   
  
Albus, what are we going to do about him? Hermione cut in. He checked once to make sure that Harry was alright, which he was. Harry's clothes were looking a little tired and his eyes had bags under them, but he was still the brave eleven year old at heart, trying to do the right thing, even after all that had occurred.   
  
It is up to Harry to decide what he wants, we can do nothing more.   
  
Albus waited for Harry to respond, to say something. All of the other eyes in the room shifted to the dark haired man and waited. He watched as Harry closed his eyes, and begun, looking at each of them in turn.  
  
What do I want? He looked at everyone in turn as he said this, watching their reactions. I want to stop running. Running from this, he pointed to his scar, he pulled up the thin black material of his robe, revealing the black mark. from you, pointing to Ron, but most of all, from this. He pointed finally at himself.  
  
Albus reached over and placed his hand of Harry's shoulder. We cannot run from who we are - we are made up of our choices in life. To change any part of that is the deny ourselves a part of who we are. You've chosen your path - the trick is to not look back, but to instead to look forward.  
  
I look forward, and I see death. Harry gazed into Albus's face, and his heart went out to the boy.  
  
Do you want to survive?  
  
I do. This was said slowly, deliberately. Albus knew that this day would define the rest of his life, certainly, if not the lives of everyone in the room.   
  
Then do everything you can to help yourself, and focus on why you want to survive. Albus looked briefly at the small clock on the mantle. I must be going, Professor McGonagall will be wanting to meet this afternoon. Harry, think on what I said. To survive this, you all must be strong. I know you are, but the rest of your friends will have to make some decisions about how they feel.  
  
Albus walked to the fireplace, and started a fire. He took a pinch of the silvery Floo powder, and flew out of his mouth. He said goodbye once more to the dumbstruck people in the room.  
  


*****  
  


Arthur Weasley's desk was cluttered. He had the usual items that any Ministry official would have: a bowl of owl treats, blank parchment, reports, quills, ink wells and a few photographs of his children and wife, as well as some other, less orthodox Muggle items. A few broken spark plugs, the receiver of a telephone, and a computer's gray mouse littered one corner of his desk - he claimed that they helped him think. He was content in his position, although he was concerned about the rising power of Fudge and his faction.   
  
During the war against Voldemort, Arthur Weasley had advocated the use of force to achieve victory. Not to Fudge's extremes, but he was willing to use the Killing Curse when necessary. He opposed Fudge when he tried to expand the powers of the office of Minister of Magic, Arthur felt that Fudge had enough power. There was something about the Minister that struck Arthur the wrong way. Perhaps it was the assassination attempt in Ron's sixth year that made Fudge realize who he was dealing with. Fudge became obsessed with Voldemort, defeating him because the sole goal of his Ministry.   
  
Arthur worked on Saturdays, everyone did. It was a new requirement. He saw Percy everyday, often his middle son would be there when he arrived and he was there when he left. He sat at his desk, reading the week's Magical Reversal Squad reports.  
  
When a rapping on his door came, he looked up, and into Cornelius Fudge's face. Cornelius's face was concerned about something as his mouth was drawn tight against his face and his eyes were as large as saucers. Fudge had a mask of concern on, he was sure of it. He would do anything to advance his own interest - namely that of killing Voldemort and destroying his organization.  
  
I thought it was best that I come to you first, before I make the announcement to the Aurors. The Minister told him as he sat in one of the Edwardian chairs.  
  
Arthur was caught by surprise and confusion; what could this possibly be about?  
  
I am doing this only as a favor to you, Arthur. He pulled out a small cube, and tossed it on the desk. This is the latest report on Death Eater activity. Case file number seven-oh-seven-one. Arthur picked the cube up and pointed his wand at it. After a moment a series of images flickered atop his cluttered desk; a red haired girl, twenty years of age, holding a wand and shooting the Dark Mark into the air. His daughter, Ginny Weasley.  
  
Do you see how this looks, Arthur?  
  
I do. But I don't see why you are showing this to me. I knew nothing about it, if it can be proven to be true.  
  
I believe you Arthur, I really do. But there are people in this Ministry who would be glad to see you brought down with her.  
  
Arthur was still suspicious of Fudge, he wanted something. His mind reeled at the information that his daughter, who he had raised from the cradle, was a Death Eater. What do you want from me?  
  
Support my proposal and I will make this information disappear. Fudge reached to the cube to pick it up, but Arthur stopped his hand. They looked at each other tensely, each scouting out a position.   
  
Arthur said deliberately.   
  
Have it your way Arthur. I would not be surprised if in the next couple of days her name pops up in the _Daily Prophet._ Fudge told him, and left imperiously. Arthur Weasley sat back in his chair and fell into thought. He perhaps needed to make a trip to see Abar.   
  


*****  
  


Neville Longbottom had not lost his pudgy face, nor his penchant for disaster. Regardless, he was regarded as the most up and coming researcher in the Auror College, and everyone knew it. His white robes were rumpled, and his sandy hair was still unkept. Socially, he surprised everyone when he went on dates, which were infrequent enough to cause comment. Surely the Longbottom genes would be propulgated? Neville smiled as he listened to the talk around him; at least when he cared to hear it. His mind was usually on one task or another, trying to make sense of the latest wand foul-up or Charm collapse.   
  
His work station was far below the Auror's College, and had a white tiled floor with white wainscotting for cleanliness. It was a mess, with several potions brewing, papers strewn, wands laying everywhich way, and a general sense of disorder pervaded the entire room. Strangely enough, Neville knew where everything was, and did not allow anyone to touch anything, less he forget where it was.   
  
Today, he was working on Justin Finch-Fletchly's wand enhancement - his own specialty. He sat on a stool, the wand in a clamp on the table. He touched his own to it and said _amplio virga_, and continuing, laid on several stronger charms that would aid Finch-Fletchly in his work. Neville took pride in what he did - after all, without it many Aurors would have died.   
  
He did not hear Finch-Fletchly come up behind him, and he let out a shreak when he realized who it was. Do not do that in here. Do you realize what sensitive instruments I have? There was a muttered apology somewhere in the next few moments. I have your wand ready for you - I've improved it's sense-time and also several of the unbreakable charms.  
  
Neville released the wand out of it's clamps, and Finch-Fletchly waved it a bit, releasing a few sparks.   
  
I'll try it out and get back to you, Finch-Fletchly said on his way out. Neville was rarely thanked - his work was uncommon enough that not too many people saw him. But for all that, he was content.   
  


*****  
  


Justin Finch-Fletchly smiled after trying his wand out on the firing range. Longbottom had improved the wand quite a bit, and he knew it. _Tomorrow, I'll find out all that I need to know from her. And she will regret trying to hook up with that fairy traitor._ Many people knew of Finch-Fletchly dislike of Draco, either because of the fact that his noble blood was wasted without procreation, or because of his relationship with one Harry Potter, which continually provided suspicion on him, long after his supposed break-up with the man. _Tomorrow._ Justin smiled in spite of himself.  
  


*****  


  
Twenty-four hours ago Ron would have killed Harry Potter on sight, no questions asked. He hated him for betraying everything that he thought Harry had believed in. After that day on the train station, Ron was consumed with revenge, an emotion that would only grow stronger as the months passed. He enrolled in the Auror Academy and graduated a year later. His time there was spent honing his skills - and he was viewed by Abar Knowles as one of the best Aurors to come through the Academy in almost twenty years. And he had been close to Harry, which made him all the more useful.   
  
He was consumed from the day he graduated, sent out into the wizarding and Muggle worlds to find and destroy Death Eaters, but more importantly, to kill Harry Potter. He was obsessed, spending more and more hours over evidence looking for patterns, clues - anything that might lead them to Harry. He knew that the Boy Who Lived was a rising star in Voldemort's organization; most of the captured spies told them that. How far he had gone though, they could not say.   
  
Ron had come razor close to capturing Harry twice. The first was during a raid on Diagon Alley, where Ron had spotted Harry through his mask and had chased him down a small alley. Harry had Disapparated before Ron could get a lock on Harry with his wand. The second was during another raid, this time on the Ministry of Magic itself. Ron was doing a tour as part of the team assigned to the Minister himself - and it was then that the Death Eaters had attacks. Ron had missed Harry by only a few seconds that time; they hadn't seen each other since.  
  
But the most engulfing moment of the past three years must have been the Quidditch World Cup. Harry, Oliver Wood, and several other Death Eaters had blown up about a quarter of the stadium, causing hundreds of deaths, and over three thousand injured. It was horrific, but it became a nightmare when Ron had found both Charlie and Fred badly burned. At that moment all the rage against Harry crystalized into a icy-blue flame. Never had a member of his family been hurt like that and never had he wanted them to be hurt. It was then that Ron knew that, confronted with the opportunity, he would not hesitate to kill Harry.  
  
But then Harry had come back, and Hermione had stopped him from consummating his rage. He knew, somewhere inside of the monster that had become his former best friend, lay something of the former best friend; and that if he didn't kill him right away, he might not have the heart to. Blind rage would give way to training, to cold reason, and Harry would not seem so...evil, dark and sinister anymore. There could be reasoning behind what he did, and as Ron had listened to the past three hour tale, there was reason. It was not easy.  
  
A part of Ron wanted to feel betrayed again for not being confided in about Harry, Draco had been instead. _Draco had been in a similar situation; who else could Harry trust?_ Dumbledore obviously knew about it, but beyond that, no one. He also wondered if Hermione's plan to try and get Lavender to print news of Voldemort's defeat would truly serve their purpose; after all, he still wanted to see Harry pay. Not death perhaps, not anymore; but Azkaban definitely. Harry had caused untold suffering and pain; nothing could change that nor would Harry want it to be changed. But maybe, just maybe, the killing of Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters would be enough to stop the court from executing him.  
  
Harry, are you ready to continue this story from where you left off? Hermione asked, sitting beside Ron, their hands intertwined.  
  
I am. Let's backtrack a little - there's something about the train ride that I left out... Ron listen closely as Harry launched back into his tale, and into the afternoon.  
  
A/N - Chapter 2 is out, mainly because a) even I am getting impatient and b) it was my birthday yesterday (9/19) and so I thought an update would be appropriate. Many, many thanks go to my betas Nancy and Adi for their hard work and everything that they do. Please be a responsible reader and review. What you liked, didn't like, what didn't make sense, questions you may have? Ask me anything about Sacrifice. Chapter 3 will be up on Friday, Oct. 4th. Every two weeks, I think, will do it. I'm almost finished writing chapter 4, so I will hopefully be able to keep abreast of everyone.   
  
Thanks to MOI, Mel, Myr, Draco's Secret Lover, mastershake16, Piri-Lupin Snape, kandra, Columbia Potter, killy, Riisha and BarbaraSheridan for reviewing.


	3. Chapter 3 Truth, Lies and Little Black ...

Sacrifice, Chapter 3  
Truth, Lies and Little Black Books  
  
What's the use? What's the use?   
Though you swindle and chisle your plots always fizzle  
-Candide  
  


A/N - Characters, places and some of the plot is not mine, but the respective copyright holder's.  


  


When Harry finished, the room sat in stunned silence. Ron knew a little about Harry's Death Eater activities, from the _Daily Prophet_ as well as his own experiences with Harry, but never the whole story. All the planning - discussions, battle plans and otherwise that went into an operation. He supposed, at that moment that the two organizations, the Aurors and the Death Eaters weren't really dissimilar, at least in that respect.   
  
He looked at Harry, who had his head bowed against his chest. He was so pale and fragile looking, almost as if, were he to trip, he would smash into a thousand fragments. Ron studied him closely, watching for any signs of movement. In a way, he was glad that Harry had come back, so that he could find out what had driven him to join. That was one of the questions that had raked on his mind these past three years, and now finally he knew.  
  
There were others of course, but those could and would be answered in time. If they had time. He thought briefly about Hermione's idea about the using the _Daily Prophet_ as a way to get the truth' out there, to let everyone know about the defeat of the Dark Lord and more importantly, who had done it. That was going to be the tricky part.  
  
Draco, I think we should go. It's getting late, Ginny said carefully, truly breaking the moment. They had gone from the very beginning of the story until yesterday, and hopefully none of it had been forgotten. The five occupants of the room stood at the same time, and smoothed out their clothes. Draco nodded to Ginny, and Ginny quickly said her good-bye's to each of them. Draco took a little bit longer with Hermione, whispering something softly to her, which Ron didn't catch.   
  
Draco moved away from Hermione, who nodded in response. He then came to Ron, and tired gray eyes met brown. We need to talk some things over before I go any further, please? Ron nodded, and Draco stepped away from him as well. Finally, Draco moved to Harry. They stood inches apart with unspoken words hanging between them, each letter wanting to be screamed and whispered, both words of regret and of tenderness. For a long moment, they were alone in the room, and Ron felt as if he were truly an outsider, watching something that he truly didn't understand.  
  
There was nothing said - there didn't need to be. Harry reached out to Draco's cool hand, and squeezed it, holding it between them. The moment between them was broken, and Draco quickly Floo'd out of the room, following Ginny.  
  
Are you hungry? Hermione asked both of them, and Ron nodded to her. Harry smiled and did the same. She left the two of them alone, and went into the kitchen, humming to herself as she went.   
  
What are you smiling about, Potter? Harry winced as Ron's habit of saying his last name came into play, although it was not said maliciously.   
  
You're always hungry, retorted Harry, and for the briefest of moments, a glimpse into what life could have been like for the three of them flashed before Ron's eyes. Harry doing something - playing Quidditch professionally, or working in the Ministry, Hermione teaching and himself? Ron saw himself at the Ministry as well, but this time as a beauracrat, not an Auror. He knew that it was Harry that had driven him, taunted him all this time to succeed. And he had. Order of Merlin, fourth class, for bravery and valor, given by Fudge himself, after the Quidditch Cup fiasco.   
  
Without Harry's leaving, Ron would have remained in his shadow; since he had gone, Ron had discovered that he liked the sun.  
  
I guess I am at that, Ron replied, and he too joined Harry's natural warm smile. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it.   
  
Harry's smile faded, and he stood and moved to the window, pacing slowly. He turned sharply, and caught Ron's eye. I know we've had our differences; Merlin's boots that's putting it mildly. And I don't know what I hoped to accomplish by coming here, I really don't. My Mas-Voldemort made a big deal of your hatred for me. Ron started to open his mouth, but Harry stopped him. No, I knew it was real. To you my betrayal was real; it had to be.  
  
Ron remembered that Draco had briefly tried to get him to calm down after Harry had petrified those Muggle-borns in King's Cross. Draco had said something then about that Harry knowing what he was doing. Ron had dismissed what Draco had said, as he continued to do until after Draco had been captured and returned to them. It was then that Ron realized the true connection that Draco and Harry had. Before then, he assumed some crazy scheme on the part of Draco, his father, and You-Know-Who to ensnare Harry. It was only after Draco came back, with a look of fear that he understood that it was nothing of the sort. His thoughts turned to the current situation that he faced.   
  
Harry sat on a flowered armchair, his chin resting in his hands, looking at him. Harry was his current problem. A swell of anger rose in him; after all, Harry had almost killed Fred and George at the Quidditch World Cup, not two months ago. Ron clenched his fists, and began to pace.   
  
Do you know how close you came to killing Fred and George that day at the Cup? Their section of stands was next to the one of the sections that you blew up. They fell almost a hundred feet with the rubble, and it was only the Scaffolding Charm that a worker had forgotten to remove that saved them. I had to watch while Medi-wizards from St. Mungo's worked furiously to save them. Ron stopped pacing, and glared at Harry. He hadn't moved. Growing more angry, Ron continued. It was touch and go there for a while. Nothing that I could do could help them. All I could think about was you, Harry. I hated you, more than ever. For the first time, you hadn't attacked me, a trained Auror. You attacked them as civilians. They work at Zonko's, and want nothing more than to survive.  
  
Another glance, and Harry still hadn't moved at all. Ron practically shook with fury. _Why doesn't he react? Does he not care at all?_ he asked himself, while breathing heavily. Over a thousand wizards died that day, Harry. Each one with a family, friends, and a life. Do you mean to tell me that you don't feel anything for them, for what you've done to them? Harry stood up, and stared at Ron. They were roughly the same height, and their eyes met. Harry's green eyes opened into a world of suppressed pain, of darkness, fear, hatred and cruelty. Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it again, thinking about what he was going to say.   
  
What do you want me to say, Ron? he asked tiredly. I can only apologize, beg for forgiveness so many times, until it becomes meaningless. I'm here to stand trial for what I've done to the world. If I am to die, I will die knowing that I have destroyed Voldemort utterly, and rid the world of two great evils.  
  
Ron's red eyebrow raised slightly at that comment. _Was Harry referring to himself?_  
  
Two. Do you dream, Ron? Ron didn't move; he was so caught up in where Harry was trying to go with this line of questions that he couldn't. About the people that you've killed?  
  
In fact, he didn't. Ron felt that since all of his kills' were Death Eaters, it was a service done to the wizarding world, and that was that.   
  
I do. All the time. I rarely sleep for more than a few hours a night. Beginning with Cedric, and ending with Oliver. I don't like killing, Ron.  
  
It's a little late for that, isn't it?  
  
Harry smiled resignedly, and nodded. I suppose so. When I die, I will be haunted forever by the memories of those that I've had to kill. While I live, I am haunted by those same memories. Be glad that you can sleep at night.  
  
Ron answered smuggly. I am.  
  
Are you boys done? a female voice asked worriedly from the kitchen doorway; Ron turned and looked at Hermione. She was tired, the strain of the past twenty-fours hours had gotten to her. A strand of pasta hung from her shirt, and her face hung limply. I have to go feed Arthur. I'm assuming you can handle the rest? An eyebrow arched at Ron, and he nodded, and went into the kitchen. Harry followed soon behind.   
  
Ron and Harry proceeded to strain the pasta, mix the sauce in, and set the food on the table. An unopened bottle of Pegeen's Pumpkin Merlot stood off to one side. Ron pulled the cork out, and poured three glasses. Letting the warmth ease down his throat, he relaxed, and saw that the others were doing the same.   
  
They ate dinner in silence, once Hermione had returned. Not because there were any overt stresses or anxieties, but because each had something to think about Ron thought over what he had accomplished in the past three years: marrying the girl of his dreams, creating a beautiful baby boy, keeping up friendships and making new ones, but most importantly, almost catching Harry twice. And now, Harry had come back and threatened to destroy everything. If anyone found out that Ron was sheltering him - it could mean the end of his career. _But does that mean I can't? _he asked himself. _No, it doesn't. I may not owe anything now to him, but in the name of our old friendship, I will listen. Hermione can help him._  
  
At promptly eight o'clock, a tan owl screeched through the kitchen window, depositing the late edition of the _Evening Prophet_ onto the counter. Hermione went into the kitchen to get it, and she came back smiling.  
  
What are you smiling about, Hermione? Ron asked, curiously. Hermione simply held up the paper's headline as he began to read the article.  
  


_Where is You-Know-Who?  
Lavender Brown  
  
_

For the past two weeks, we have seen a rapid decline in confirmed Death Eater activity, coupled with a rise in suspected Death Eater deaths. The Daily Prophet_ asked Minister Fudge what this means. He responded curtly It's all hogwash. The Death Eaters are still as active as ever. The _Prophet _believes that this could only mean that there is some third party that has taken an interest in defeating You-Know-Who and his followers. It remains to be seen who he is, or what his true intentions are. For all we know, he could turn on us next. Neither the _Prophet _nor the Ministry of Magic has been able to ascertain his or her identity.   
  
But the biggest mystery of all is where is You-Know-Who? We can only begin to imagine what has happened to him. A Ministry of Magic source is quoted as saying You-Know-Who hasn't threatened us in two weeks. A threat made by You-Know-Who would give us some indication of his present location, or if he is still alive.  
  
If he is not still alive, the _Daily Prophet _asks the question: when will the Minister of Magic give up his emergency powers? It is high time that the wizards and witches of our world be given back the right to live in freedom, and without fear of being dragged off the street and interrogated. While providing for our defense, the Aurors must be reigned in and the encroachment on our lives must be stopped.  
  
When we find traces of him, the Aurors must make every effort to destroy the evil that has plagued us for over thirty years. But when that is finished - the Ministry of Magic must no longer invade our homes. If a third party has taken over the Death Eaters, then he or she must be stopped.  
  
_ Lavender Brown, I think I love you. Hermione announced cheerfully as she finished the article. Ron looked aghast at his wife, opening and closing his mouth several times, all the while thinking, _she couldn't possibly mean that, could she?_ Hermione and Harry looked at each other and laughed. Ron, lighten up, she said, reaching for his hand. I love you. End of story.  
  
He brightened after that. So why do you love her, Hermione?   
  
This is a perfect opportunity for us. She has already begun asking questions about the Death Eater attacks - and with what we're going to give her, all she has to do is continue those questions. The wizarding world has to know that You-Know-Who is dead, and that the Death Eaters have been destroyed.  
  
_Why hasn't the Ministry announced that You-Know-Who is finished? Do they think we're stupid?_ Questions floated in Ron's brain as they picked up from dinner and went into the living room. When they had all been seated, Harry pulled something out of one of the large inside pockets of his robe.   
  
It was a small, leather-bound, cracked book, about the size of a diary. He opened it up, and pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. Ron wondered what it was; but he was sure that he could find out soon enough. Harry sighed, and handed the book to him. Ron reached across the gap, and pulled it from his fingertips.  
  
A strange sense of excitement grew over him as he opened the cover. His stomach was in knots when the first page was finally revealed; this could be an important piece of information.  
  
It was blank. Ron looked quizzically at Harry, who responded Tap your wand and say _paeto_.  
  
Ron followed his instructions a moment later, and watched as a golden light shot from his wand into the book, sinking from cover to cover. Slowly, spider webs of ink grew across the page Ron had opened to, and growing thicker. The ink was black, and there at the top of the first page was the name of a suspected Death Eater, Alexander Simpson. Below his name, written in carefully scrawled English was a list of places and dates of attacks that Alex had participated in. Ron smiled greedily. _This could be the end of the Death Eaters entirely._ It was then that he noticed a small red dot next to Simpson's name, and the date, almost a full week before.  
  
It was then that things slid together. Simpson hadn't been seen at work by anyone since then. You killed him, didn't you Harry? An edge of disappointed crept into his voice. This could have been the crown on his career, but instead had turned into something less glamorous.   
  
Ron began flipping through the book, noticing names, confirming suspicions, discrediting others. One thing that was consistent was the red dot beside each name.   
  
How many names are in here?   
  
One-hundred seven, including my own. All of the active Death Eaters in Voldemort's organization.  
  
Are there any more names? Ron was pressing him, his focus on the investigation.  
  
Harry answered, and Ron searched that hard face for any traces of deception. He found none.  
  
And he pocketed the book.  
  


*****  
  


Ginny rubbed her forehead in frustration. _Draco can be such a stubborn, brooding...erg sometimes. They both love each other still, after all this time._ That was something that she had not expected. Draco's love for Harry was still evident, but after he had been taken by Harry, and returned in such a disturbed condition, she was not sure about Harry's feelings for Draco. Now she was. The look in Harry's eyes when they met, the twitches that he gave as he unfolded his life for the past three years. _Now that's a story, _she thought, moving around the kitchen, pouring herself a pumpkin juice. It just _begged_ to be told, preferably by she and Lavender. For the sake of being fair', Lavender's name went on all of the articles, but it was no secret that they worked together. Speaking of that, Ginny pulled down a almost empty jar of Fire-Talking Powder from a shelf in her cramped flat, and started her hot plate.   
  
Lavender Brown, she said evenly, and watched as the grill melted into her partner's apartment. Lavender's round face came into view, and brightened up when she saw who it was.  
  
Ginny! I've been trying to reach you all day. Where have you been?  
  
I've been at Hermione's with Draco. They had a visitor last night. Lavender's bright face darkened slightly; that was a code word for Death Eater. Are they alright?  
  
They're fine, if a little shaken. It's... Her mind reeled, trying to come out with it. Her voice took on a whispering quality to it.   
  
Lavender absorbed that single word, and her face became impassive, unreadable. Then she laughed, high and long. You've got to be kidding me, right, Gin?   
  
No, I'm not kidding.  
  
Oh my. This is going to be huge, Ginny. Just think about it - You-Know-Who's second being captured! Ron must be esctatic. She brightened considerably after that. Ginny shook her head.  
  
Harry came back to us. He claims that he's killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, along with most of the Death Eaters. He's here by his own free will, Lav. She sighed. It's too complicated to explain over the fire. Look, why don't we meet at the Cauldron tomorrow before work, and discuss it then. We'll get a private table, and use our signals.  
  
Alright. See you then. Lavender told her, after a moment's thought. Oh, and Gin?  
  
  
  
Be careful. This will make us a lot of enemies. Fudge and his cronies will want this stopped. And I have to ask - why are we doing this?  
  
Ginny thought for a long while, wondering the same thing. It was something that Lavender did to her each time they started a new story. She had thought about her answer all day. It only took a moment to repeat it to her co-writer. Because if we don't, Fudge will destroy him, and use Harry as the capstone to his personal power.  
  
Lavender nodded once, and Ginny knew that she had agreed to it. Tomorrow then?  
  
With that, Lavender put out the flames, and Ginny shut off her hotplate. After a moment, Ginny had her teeth brushed and slipped into her small bed, curling the soft sheets around her, while she drifted off to sleep.   


  
*****  
  


Arthur Weasley was tired, physically and emotionally. His face was sagging, and his usual smile had degenerated into a blank stare. His youngest daughter, the baby of the family, by all accounts, was a Death Eater. He had seen the Pensieve cube, and watched as his daughter had killed all of those Muggles.   
  
Looking tiredly over his desk, his gaze fell upon a silver framed picture of Molly holding day old Ginny, surrounded by the rest of the Weasley clan. They waved at him, smiling as he beamed proudly out to the world. _How could she have done this? _he asked himself, fingering the small pensive cube. _Family comes first. Always._ This had been his guiding principles, so that even when money had been tight, with four of his seven kids at Hogwarts, Arthur always found the time and energy to support his family.  
  
He would have to deal with Ginny later, but first, he had a suspicion that there was something wrong with the cube in his hand. What it was, he couldn't tell - because he had no expertise in such matters. But Knowles did, and Arthur lifted himself out of his chair, hoping to find him still at his desk.  
  
Arthur was in luck. Abar Knowles sat at his desk, legs propped up, reading some sort of a report. He pulled his half-moon spectacles from his face as Arthur entered the room, sat down and tossed the cube onto Knowles' desk.  
  
Fudge gave this to me. Arthur began, a little shaky. He had no idea how Knowles would react to what he saw, but he hoped that he would want to at least prove the authenticity of the cube that lay on the top of the wooden desk. He told me that Ginny is a- Arthur loosened the collar of his robe slightly. -a Death Eater. That this pensive cube proves it.  
  
If Knowles hadn't been paying attention before, he certainly was now. Getting up, he shut the door to his office, and sat down again. He carefully picked the cube up, examining it. Arthur, you and I have been friends for a long time, but I am also the head of the Magical Law Enforcement department, and I cannot mix the two. Arthur got up to leave, his head down. The trip had been a failure, and Ginny was as good as taken. Arthur, sit down. What do you need from me?   
  
Minister Fudge gave me the cube, and told me that the memories were of Ginny committing these crimes. Somehow, I just can't see her doing those things. Besides, how easy is it to forge a pensive cube?  
  
Abar leaned back in his chair, and looked at the cube. If the person knows what they're doing, it's not hard, on a normal cube. But when we're talking official Ministry cubes - those are a bit more serious. There are only a few people in the country capable of forging a cube.  
  
His heart leapt at the news. Are there any tests you could run to see if in fact this is a forged memory?  
  
The cube itself? No. This is an official Ministry cube. But the memories contained inside of it - there are a few tests I will have a few of my people run for you. Give me twenty-four hours, and we can have results by then, if not sooner.  
  
Thank you. You may have saved my daughters life. A small sigh escaped Abar's lips, before he could stop it. He had lost his own daughter to Voldemort during the early disappearances, after returning from Vienna. Why he had been in Vienna since just after the defeat of Grindlewald, Arthur did not know, and Abar would not tell him.   
  
If she is not a Death Eater. If this cube's memories are in fact the truth of the matter, I will ensure that she is taken. It is my duty to stop any and all Death Eaters.  
  
Arthur nodded, grateful that he had gotten this far. Thank you, Abar.   
  
Don't thank me yet - we haven't found anything. Abar paused, staring at the cube. Arthur, I...I just want to say that to lose a child to the Death Eater's grasp is painful, to say the least. I've seen it happen dozens of times. Don't be surprised if it happens again.  
  
At this, Arthur grew slightly angry. How could Ginny be a Death Eater? How can you say that?  
  
Arthur, the evidence is right here, if it is to be taken at face value. But...you've raised some questions that need to be investigated. And we will investigate them. He walked carefully around his desk, and gripped Arthur's tired shoulder. Go home, and get some rest. We'll know soon enough what happened.   
  
Arthur smiled weakly as he left the room, turning to the right to return to his office and collect his things.  
  


*****  
  


Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, watched Arthur Weasley leave Knowles's office. He too was smiling, but for a different reason. He fluttered into the office, making sure to shut and seal the door before he began to speak. Fudge studied Knowles, watching for any sign of betrayal of Arthur's visit; of course it could have been innocent, but Fudge did not think so. Not at all.  
  
You have the cube? Fudge asked harshly. Knowles had not followed instructions before, and so he had to speak this way. The man behind the desk nodded curtly once, obviously hating to do so, to bend to this man. Good. You will not run any tests on the cube, there is no need to do so.  
  
At this, Knowles perked up a bit, and glared at Fudge, who simply laughed. Don't even think about betraying me, Knowles. We reached an understanding years ago, and I intend to continue that understanding. Knowles's eyes lost some of their fierceness, and fear filled them. Sometimes, Knowles had to be taught a lesson. Those lessons were not easily forgotten. You will forget that any of this ever happened. A false report shouldn't be too hard to come by, I'm sure. Fudge pulled a rolled parchment out of the inside fold of his robes, and let it fall to the desk. This will do nicely.  
  
Without another word, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic for Great Britain, left the small office of one of his deputies. He was playing a dangerous game, he knew, but it was necessary.  
  


*****  
  


After Fudge left his office, Abar sat with his head in his hands, his mind more than fifty years apart from his body. Remembering the first days of the War, and trying to get out of London. Mariah Polson, her name had been. She had been eight at the time of the Auror attack against Grindlewald, with long, flowing brown hair and a sparkle to her eye. He had been the proud father, his wife Christine and he the proud parents. They had lived next to Holmes Sharon, a supporter of Grindlewald. Both Maria and Christine had perished in the attack, and although the Ministry had compensated him, it was not enough.  
  
In rage, he had found Grindlewald's base, and had joined for personal reasons'. He rose quickly, his rage focusing his considerable talents against the Ministry.   
  
When the War ended, he fled London, going to family in Vienna, and living in self-exile. After thirty years, he had come to terms with the Ministry, and their actions. Rumors of a new Dark Lord floated into Vienna slowly, and he promised himself that he would not get involved. But a call for all able-bodied magical British citizens was placed, and he came back to Britain, under an assumed name - Abar Knowles.   
  
He rose quickly...but Fudge somehow found out who he was, and threatened to get the Aurors to do a little digging if he did not cooperate fully with him. There was nothing to do but comply, because other supporters of Grindlewald were being rounded up and sent to Azkaban.  
  
Abar clenched his fist together, making himself another promise. He rose quickly after Fudge, and followed him down the hall. Abar caught up with the none-too-athletic Fudge, and whirled him around.   
  
I know, was all he said. It was all he needed to say, because Fudge's face drained of color, becoming snowy-white very quickly. Without another word, Abar twisted around, and began to walk back to his office.  
  
He didn't see the Minister of Magic draw his wand, but he did hear the two words escape Fudge's lips. His vision caught the eerie band of greenish light hurdling towards him, and Abar dodged it, causing it to sink into the wall. Drawing into himself, he Disapparated away, and all was darkness.  
  


*****  
  


...And Charlie zoomed around the Quidditch field, clutching the Quaffle as hard as he could. A Bludger sped towards him, but at the last second, his teammate, Peter, beat it back towards the other team. Charlie got down low on his broom, and was fast approaching the goals. With a fake shot to the left hoop, Charlie threw the Quaffle into the right hoop. The Keeper failed, and the crowds erupted in cheers.  
  
Harry stood over Arthur's bed, with Hermione and Ron listening by the door. He made all of the appropriate sounds, the zoom of the broom, the bell signaling a goal - the crack of iron on the Bludger. Arthur squealed with delight and clapped his hands, but soon was dropping off fast, as Harry continued the story of Charlie's First Quidditch Game. His cherubic face glowed, and there was a profound sense of peace and contentment surrounding him. Just before the big moment, when Charlie made another goal, Arthur fell fast asleep.  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, and his first Quidditch game flew by him; the roar of the crowds, Quirrell's attempt to sabotage his broom, and the elated feelings he got after his first time catching the Snitch. Most of all, the simple joy of flying was what dominated the day. He smiled as he remembered when Draco and he had gone flying on one broom. _That_ was certainly a night to remember.  
  
Crossing to the doorway, he nodded to Hermione, who whispered Good. I'll just make sure he stays that way. She left the doorway, and looked in at Arthur, humming softly.   
  
He is quite the kid. Harry told Ron, who smiled.  
  
He is. Such a well behaved boy. Takes after his father.  
  
Hermione remarked sarcastically. rejoining them.   
  
The three of them made their way back down the hall, down the stairs and into the living room. Harry knew it was late, and he also knew that Ron had to go to work in the morning, but none of them moved.  
  
Harry was a little bit nervous, because of the question he was going to ask both of them, and what they might say to it. Swallowing his fears, he went ahead and asked. Does Draco still love me, even after all that I've done to him?  
  
Harry waited as Ron and Hermione looked at each other nervously; he was unsure of their response. There were a few whispers exchanged, and Ron nodded vigorously as Hermione spoke. He added just a bit, and then turned to Harry.  
  
He loves who you were, Harry. Ron shifted, clearly uncomfortable. Hermione took over.  
  
He loves the Harry who was at Hogwarts. You hurt him deeply, when you took him away. Draco hasn't told anyone what happened while he was with you - not even Ginny whom he confides everything to.  
  
_I wonder why that is?_ a little voice teasingly called in his head. _How you took him, time and again, tearing up his love for you bit by bit, weakening him for your Master. But he broke you, in the end. Three simple words from him got to you, and you let him go. Killed all the rest, but you let him go. Draco. Dragon. You let him go, and all this time, he has said nothing about his encounter with you. Not a word - to anyone. That has to say something. _ Harry asked, after a long thoughtful moment.  
  
The grandfather clock struck midnight, and Hermione yawned. We should be getting to bed, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.  
  
Yes dear, Ron chimed in, obviously Harry was watching what seemed to be an almost nightly ritual. Harry, you'll take our guest room.  
  
Harry remembered that it had been only yesterday morning that he had been getting ready to kill Oliver Wood, and that he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in almost two weeks. Thank you, he told both of them graciously, and then followed them upstairs.  
  
The guest room in question was fairly small, but not impolitely small - regardless, Harry was happy with any room that had a bed and was reasonably secure. There was a mullioned window opposite the door, a small night stand and bookshelf as well. Opposite the bed was a full length mirror. The bed was a magnificent four-poster, hung with ocean blue curtains. Harry sighed, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. I am happy that I can be somewhere fairly safe - where I don't have to hide behind silencing charms, or watch my back for climbers trying to unseat me.  
  
Goodnight, Harry. Hermione said to him, and she and Ron left Harry alone, for the first time since he had arrived early this morning.  
  
He exhaled sharply, and pulled off his cloak, letting the heavy black fabric drop to the floor. Harry closed his eyes, letting the stress of trying to keep composure in front of everyone fall away in thick waves. It was not enough that he had to tell his story slowly, making sure that everyone understood what had transpired, and why, but also he had to keep an eye on Draco, to see what he would do, how he would react.  
  
Harry knew that it would take a miracle for Draco and he to be able to speak to each other; dinner had been a mess. It's hard to know what to say to someone who you desire more than anything else in the world, and at the same time, caused pain beyond imagination. _ Is there anything left in Draco's heart after all of that_, Harry wondered. _If there is, is there room for me?_ he asked, unlacing his shirt, and pulling it over his head.   
  
A look out the window revealed an expanse of stars, as there was little light pollution this far away from any major city, and Harry's room was only partially lit. He scanned the sky quickly, looking for a star in Orion's belt. _The star to the left,_ Harry thought, remember a night almost five years ago. He and Draco had snuck to the top of the Astronomy Tower during Christmas holidays, and had spent the night together, looking up at the stars. That particular star was their star, the first one that they had seen that night. Closing his eyes, Harry wished that Draco would know of his love for him, above all else.  
  
He pulled away from the window, and looked into the mirror, while taking off his boots and pants. The mirror reflected his true self - one of a tired, worn out face and body. Hex marks marked his arms and legs, and a long scar ran from the middle of his taunt stomach up to his collarbone. Sighing, he slipped into bed, and fell soundly asleep a few moments later. He was exhausted.  
  
_Hurry up, Harry, our guests are waiting.  
  
Harry turned away from the mirror, giving his robes one last tug, and promptly fell into Draco. They embraced, Harry running his hands over Draco's narrow back, and Draco snaking his hands into the course fibers of Harry's hair. Lips found each other, and Harry hungrily kissed his way down Draco's porcelain neck, full of want. Draco gingerly pulled away from Harry, and the raven haired man drank in the sight of him.  
  
To Harry, Draco was gorgeous. His shoulder length blond hair was pulled back and tied simply with a red ribbon. His ice gray eyes had been the source of many days of warmth on the coldest of winter days. Draco was almost as tall as Harry was, but carried himself with a feline poise and grace that Harry found very enticing. It was amazing, watching Draco stroll into a room, commanding the attention of everyone there, regardless of their gender. His very stance, poised yet relaxed, cried out for attention.  
  
Harry sighed, and fiddled with the piping on Draco's collar. _To think that I am in love with such a man, _he thought aimlessly as he fixed the stray collar.   
  
They loved each other madly, quarreled endlessly, gave wild parties, enjoyed dinner at home...they were a maze of contradictions. Tonight, they were giving a Christmas party, and anyone who was anyone was invited. Ron and Hermione Weasley, the most successful Auror team in history, Neville and Ginny Longbottom, Reamus and Severus, Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, Minister Fudge...the guest list was over a hundred people and counting.  
  
God, Draco, I love you.  
  
A fact I realize more and more every day, Harry. Now come on, put on your hat. Our guests are waiting.   
  
Harry's hat sat on the ornate dressing table. It was black, as were Harry's robes, and it had an enormous emerald green feather sticking out of one side. The piping on Harry's robes was also emerald green, to match his eyes. Draco had on matching robes, except his piping was blood red.   
  
Draco offered his arm to Harry, who took it graciously. With a laugh, they left Harry's rarely-used bedroom.  
  
The two men walked down the hallway, the rich carpeting dampening their steps. A light snow fell outside of the Manor, and Harry tugged at Draco's arm to stop.   
  
We've time yet. he slid his arm around Draco's waist, and pulled him   
close. Do you remember the first time we saw the snow fall here? He asked, leaning into Draco's shoulder.  
  
Of course, Draco answered carefully.  
  
You really don't, do you? Harry was a little hurt, and anger flared up in his voice.  
  
  
  
I knew it! Harry exclaimed, and pulled away from Draco, leaving the other man cold. Draco took a deep, cleansing breath, and exhaled slowly.  
  
Harry, let's not fight, alright? We have guests, and we certainly can't have make-up sex in the Grand Hall, like the time that you decided that you were leaving.  
  
Harry fumed, but couldn't keep up the act much longer, Draco was too enticing. Come on. You win - this time.  
  
Don't I always? Draco asked innocently, once again offering his arm.  
  
Finally they made it to the top of the stairs leading down to the Grand Hall. A liveried footman, dressed from head to toe in white robes, rang a bell, and conversation in the room below petered out. Presenting the Misters. Malfoy and Potter.   
  
Arm in arm, they walked down the carpeted staircase, into a winter wonderland. A long table, longer than any Harry had ever seen, stretched from one end of the Grand Hall to the other, covered in food that must have taken a week to prepare. Geese, ducks, chickens, turkeys, several hams, pork and other meats dotted the table with sizable dishes of vegetables, salads and deserts filling in the rest.   
  
Harry looked over the crowd, and smiled. His friends smiled back at him, secretly relieved that he and Draco were not having one of their famous rows.   
  
They arrived at the head of the table, which could easily fit four, but there were only two elegant place settings - one of him and one for Draco. Draco clinked his glass for silence, and he cleared his throat.  
  
There is no finer way to spend Christmas than with the ones you love. I'd like to propose a toast to that old curmudgeon, Harry Potter, without whom I could not have the love of my life.  
  
A chorus answered him To Harry.  
  
Harry cleared his throat. Draco could always speak publicly, which is why he represented both of their business interests. Harry was happy teaching. However much Draco would like to believe that I am an old curmudgeon', he is older than I. I would like to propose a toast to that old war-horse himself, Draco - without whom we all would not be here. People opened their mouths to speak. Harry waited a moment and then said And without whom I would have never learned the lessons of love.  
  
A heavy chorus answered the second toast To Draco, they chorused and drank. Draco, being the host, took the first piece of meat off of the goose in front of them, chewed three times, and nodded his head. This was the signal for everyone to begin eating.  
  
After the diner had finished, all of the guests went to the ballroom, a spacious room at the bottom of one of the three turrets in Malfoy Manor. It was decorated in red and green and white, and was lit by thousands of candles, casting an eerie glow to the entire room.  
  
A rented orchestra, which Draco had insisted upon, began playing a light waltz. Harry felt himself swept up off of his feet, and into the middle of the dance floor. He let himself go, falling into the pattern of the music, and a smile flickered across his lips.   
  
He was happy.  
  
_Harry Potter, Death Eater and second to Voldemort, smiled in his sleep, and turned over happily, content with the world.  
  


*****  
  


Several hundred miles away, Draco Malfoy was having a similar dream, showing what life might have been like. A single tear trickled down his face, unbeknownst to him, while he slept.  
  
  
A/N - Well, that was fun wasn't it? Next chapter Harry has a second dream, and Things In The Plot Move Along. You'll find out. Please take a moment to be a responsible reader and review . Many thanks go out to Nancy, my wonderful beta. You're amazing!  
  
Thanks for Reviews last time :  
Pip - Yes, Ron is one of the hardest characters to write for me - on one hand I want everything to be fine between he and Harry, but on the other, I can't do that, as it would seem to easy. And yes, this story is dark. And it will get worse. Thanks for the review!  
  
MOI - Thanks! Why is Fudge still in power? Well, he has done some good for world, especially after he realized that things were happening. Perhaps I will mention how he got to how he is in a later chapter. Thanks for the review!   
  
mistykasumi - Thanks!  
  
Riisha - I am trying...luckily I have chapter 4 written, and it's off to the betas as I write. Thanks!  
  
Tabancity - Yes, that was a mistake on my part. I should go back and fix that...these really are second drafts anyway. I will fix it at some point. Anything more specific that you found, please e-mail me at EHowland@Anselm.Edu. Thanks!  
  
Kaisa - Thanks! *Winks*  
  
Spike's Girl - Am I really that transparent? Ginny doing something evil? Now who would think of something like that? Thanks for the B-day wishes, it was a great day. :) Thanks for the review!  
  
Lady Geuna - Great! You will find out all the details - and there will be many, many details. Thanks!  
  
Myr - Thanks! Do we get any more Parliment of Dreams (Which everyone should go read, BTW) soon?  
  
Kandra - All in good time, dear, all in good time. Thanks for the birthday wishes - and no, it's not polyjuice. Just so you know. But Fudge is up to something, and it's explained partially in chapter 3.   
  
Chapter 4 will arrive on ff.n on Oct. 18th.  
  
Thanks to all!  
C


	4. Chapter 4 Revelations

Sacrifice  
Chapter 4  
Revelations  


  
There is a sweetness in every woe  
-Candide, Voltare  
  
A/N - Not mine.  


  


Harry Potter smiled as he slept on, blissfully unaware of the changes that would interrupt his slumber. A small puddle of drool lay on his pillow, remnants of his dream of happy life with Draco. He rolled over to one side, and dreamt on.  
  
  
_A thunderstorm, thick and angry, boiled across the gray sky, churning the very air with it's intensity. Harry once again found himself in his bedroom at Malfoy Manor. The lightning struck across the sky, illuminating the gloomy rain for a brief moment before the thunder rolled, shaking the thick glass with it's noise.   
  
A scream, loud and intense, crying out for release, salvation, anything to get away carried itself to Harry's ears. He turned, and noticed the open door. Drawing his wand, he passed through the doorway, peering down the hall to see if he could make out who or what made that scream.  
  
Again it came, louder and more clear this time. Harry stopped and listened, the rain pouring down in buckets across the muted sky, and lashing against the paned glass. Another, followed by sobbing. A voice. A male's voice. Coming from one of the more central rooms of the manor. Harry moved, more quickly but cautiously now, not wanting to alert anyone to his presence.   
  
A fourth scream, and Harry's blood drained. _Draco. _Someone was hurting Draco. His grip on his wand tightened, and he could feel the small beads of sweat pull through his fingers and quickly evaporate. He ran, more quickly now, throwing all caution to the wind. Where was he?   
  
The ballroom's double doors loomed large in front of him, and one of them was open, revealing parts of a ghastly scene inside. Harry crept up to the door, and peered inside.   
  
Draco lay spread-eagled on a steel table, facing the ceiling. A figure in flowing black robes stood over him, laughing. There was a semi-circle of similarly clad figures surrounding the two of them, all facing away from Harry.   
  
So glad you could join us, Potter. An eerie voice echoed off the cavernous interior.  
  
The assembled echoed, in a monotone voice.  
  
Stop harming Draco! Harry shouting, trying to move, but finding that he couldn't budge from his stance in front of the door.  
  
I am doing nothing, Mister Potter. It is you who are harming him.  
  
Voices rang around the room.  
  
Harry struggled, with more insistence. There had to be a way to move! I've done nothing.  
  
Nothing? A pale arm extended to Draco, making him scream all the louder. Harry flinches. Nothing? You have done everything, my dear boy. And for that we will pass judgment upon you.  
  
Rang the chorus, and suddenly the room was bathed in a golden light.  
  
I've not done anything! Harry protested, all the more confused.   
  
We find you guilty, Harry Potter.  
  
The last two figures on either side turned around. Fred and George Weasley's faces twisted in pain told him.  
  
This time Ginny and Lavender.  
  
A nameless Muggle and his wife.  
  
The Dursley's.  
  
Professor Dumbledore and Severus.  
  
Ron and Hermione.  
  
Lily and James Potter, turned, the last to do so. He stared at them, the hatred on their faces, loathing him. We know not who you are.  
  
It was repeated down the line as the figure on the dais turned around. His own face stared back at him from under the raised hood. It was darker than his own, more sinister, but nonetheless a perfect match. Draco rose from his place, and stood next to Harry. His angelic face was a sight from the very fury of heaven itself. He bled from a hundred places, and his voice rang out, and hit Harry like an Bludger.   
  
The line of figures parted, and the two stepped down from the dais, and came into line. They moved as a unit, and grew taller and taller, long shadows reaching high above into the sky, blackening all of existence.  
_

  
*****  


  
Draco Malfoy woke from a decidedly unsound sleep, his blue sheets cocooned around him. He struggled out of them, one thought on his mind. _Harry._ Since seventh year, anytime that Harry had expressed a particularly strong emotion, Draco had experienced a reflection of it. Night after night, especially during the early months of Harry's Death Eater activities, those feelings kept Draco from sleeping. Anytime that Harry felt anything: revulsion, fear, anger, sadness, Draco felt a fraction of it. This feeling of helplessness that Draco felt at this moment was the strongest that he had felt anything from Harry in several weeks. The apparent murders of almost two dozen Death Eaters had not phased Harry in the least.   
  
He threw on a pair of black pants, grabbed his wand, ran his fingers through his hair, and Disapparated to the Weasley household with a _pop'_.   
  
When he arrived in their living room, there was no one there. _Please let this be a false alarm. Please._ He pleaded, but he knew in his heart that it was not. Drawing his wand, he padded carefully through the rest of the first floor, looking for anything out of place. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Coming back into the living room, he crossed to the stairs, and made his way up the wooden steps, trying not to make any noise. The first doorway on the right was the master bedroom, and the second was Arthurs, so that left either of the two guest rooms on the left to try. He tried the first handle, and it was locked. A quick _Alohamora _broke through the lock, and the door creaked open. Scanning quickly, Draco saw nothing. He closed the door, and locked it once again.  
  
That left only one other door, and Draco sucked in a breath opening the door, his wand at the ready.  
  
Harry crouched on the bed, shaking, eyes wide open. The sheets lay crumpled at the end of the bed, and Harry simply raised his hand and pointed to Draco, mouth moving incoherently. Moving swiftly, Draco crossed to the other side of the bed, where Harry was, and knelt down to him. Harry's arm had followed him across the room, and he stretched out his hand and felt Draco's face.  
  
You're real. Harry whispered, stroking Draco's cheek. Draco was simply confused at what Harry was doing. His body responded, leaning into Harry. One part of him screamed at what was happening, the other knew that this was right.  
  
Of course I'm real, Harry. What happened? Did you dream? Draco asked, his voice full of concern for the boy he loved.   
  
I dreamt that everyone I knew had turned against me. That I was...torturing you. Again. Draco stopped, and drew back from Harry. It was too soon, too painful, to contemplate that kind of torture again. He had wanted to help Harry, but his mind had other ideas, and he began to back towards the door.  
  
I shouldn't have come, Harry. I'm not ready for this. Draco told him, as he reached for the doorknob. _If I could just compose myself, I would be fine, _he chanted, hoping that it would help him.  
  
Harry slumped back against the headboard, and closed his eyes. Draco felt a little safer, now that Harry wasn't looking at him. Stay with me? Harry pleaded, opening his eyes again and staring into Draco's soul.  
  
This was the moment of truth for the two of them. Draco thought, analyzing the situation. Harry...you hurt me, more than you'll ever know, more than I can ever tell you. You broke what was sacred to me, what I loved - our love, and turned it into sacrilege. I still love you - who you were, not who you are. Who you have become is a stranger. I don't know you, and I don't know if I love you the way you are now. Harry's face broke at this, and his chin fell.  
  
I am who I am, Draco, just as you are who you are. We can be nothing else than what we are. I love you Draco. Not the old you, not the new you, but you. You came to me, knowing that I was in pain. I still am. Please, stay with me? Harry pleaded.  
  
Draco shook his head, and turned the handle, leaving the room in silence.  
  


*****  
  


Harry was numb. Beyond numb, if such a thing were possible for a man who had seen so much in the world. All of his Death Eater activities hadn't affected him as Draco's rejection had. His love, his thread to hope and sanity - had rejected him when he needed him. Anger quickly boiled up inside of him, and he gripped the sides of his sheets tightly, trying to rip them to shreds. _Rip._ A tear opened, quickly widening as Harry pulled them apart.   
  
But he wasn't angry at Draco alone, no, his anger was directed at himself - his sacrifices, his choices and the consequences that he had considered, but hadn't been able to understand - until he was in the midst of it all. It had seemed so simple, three years ago, to leave Hogwarts, fight for Voldemort, kill him, and then return. He knew that people would hate him for what he'd done, for his choice in life. But he hadn't intended to hurt Draco, the one treasure he valued above all. It had happened however, and there was no use in pretending that it hadn't.  
  
If Draco couldn't accept who he was now, then...it was over.   
  
Shaking his head, Harry dismissed that thought as irrational and impulsive, something that being a Death Eater had culled out of him. It would take time, but he _would _ win Draco back, even if it took the rest of his life.   
  
Rising from the bed, he quickly performed a few charms, made the bed and fled from the room. Closing the door, he glanced down the hallway, and just as he thought, Draco sat slumped up against one wall, staring off into space. Without another word, he plopped down next to him, settling his hand onto Draco's, rubbing the veins softly.   
  
You should have resisted, Harry. Told him no. Draco told him, refusing to look at him.  
  
You know I couldn't do that. The risk was too great. For both of us. Someone else would have killed you. Harry sighed, not looking at Draco either.   
  
I'm better off dead. Stung, Harry clamped his mouth shut. Draco continued. I loved you, Harry. Everything about you. I thought that I could do this, see you, help you. But I can't. It's too painful for me. And you can't expect me to love you when I hardly know anything about you now. He laughed harshly, just once, and set his head in his hand, sighing.  
  
I'm Harry Potter. Harry stuck his hand out to Draco, who lifted his head, and smiled. He shook it.  
  
I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy, Potter. And don't you forget it. Draco smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. Because if you do, there will be...consequences.  
  
Harry smiled, and drew Draco into a hug. It felt...right, wrapping his arms around Draco's thin frame, and resting his head on the other's shoulder. Draco, after a moment, followed suit, and they sat there for sometime, just holding each other, expressing without words what could not be said with them.   
  
Draco's hands pulled away from Harry's back, and rested on his forearms. The two locked gazes, green meeting gray, each searching for forgiveness. Harry wanted this, needed this. For three years he had been alone, and had begged and pleaded to let Draco love him after all that he had done. Slowly, inexorably, Harry nodded, and Draco chastely moved forward.  
  
Their lips met. It was not a particularly good kiss, as kisses went, Harry reflected later. He and Draco did, after all, having morning breath, but it was right. It lasted only a few seconds, and in that time it was as if the last three years had been easier for all of them, as if Harry and Draco were together and simply greeting each other in the morning.  
  
When it ended, Draco took Harry's hand in his, and they lapsed into silence, fingers intertwined.  
  


*****  
  


_Wizard_! _Witch_! _Which_ _wizard for the witch_? Ginny Weasley belted out at the top of her lungs. It was the latest from the Weird Sisters, and a small wireless box in her bathroom backed her up. She ignored a loud _thump_ from the flat next to hers, and continued to sing, louder and more forcefully while she readied herself for breakfast with Lavender.   
  
Setting her hair up, Ginny glanced into the mirror, and deemed herself ready to face the day. She was dressed in bottle blue work robes, with frayed edges around the collar and cuffs. These robes had been a present from Percy two Christmases ago, and she had worn them to work basically every day since then. It would have been a matter of a few simple charms to fix the fraying, but she liked it that way.  
  
Ginny grabbed her wand, unlocked her door, and headed out, placing several serious Locking Charms on the door before she left for the day.  
  
She stepped out into a side street of Diagon Alley, and unlike the main thoroughfare of Wizarding Britain, her street was quiet. Ginny passed a row of seemingly shabby houses, all crooked and bent over, almost sad looking. From the inside however, they offered the most modern conveniences that the wizarding world could provide.   
  
Being careful not to run into frenzied parents trying to gather all of their children's school supplies, or witches and wizards restocking their own needs, Ginny made her way into the flow of traffic, and walked towards the brick wall that marked the boundary between the Muggle world and her own.  
  
Tapping on the bricks with her wand sent the red bricks twisting and turning, soon forming an arch that opened into the small alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny passed under the arch, which began to close, and entered into the gloomy haze through a side door.  
  
Waiting for her, as usual, was Lavender Brown. Ginny embraced her friend warmly, and they sat down at one of the private tables. Lavender looked a little tired, although she still had taken the time this morning to dress herself. As opposed to Ginny, she was the career witch and took pride in her appearance; brown hair pulled back harshly, face dusted lightly with Witch's Handy-Dandy Quick Make-Up Spells, and robes that always seemed to be pressed and new everyday.  
  
They took a menu, and after a moment, pressed their wands to the choices that they wanted.   
  
Lavender began, looking very unsure of herself. Ginny supposed that what she had told her last night had sent her into a tailspin.  
  
He's back, Lav. Nothing's changed since last night. Lavender looked a little crestfallen; Ginny had assumed correctly.  
  
I had hoped that it was all a dream.  
  
So did I, if that makes you feel any better. But he's back, and I want to help him.  
  
But everything that he's done to our world, Gin...we just can't ignore that!  
  
No, we can't. Ginny certainly wouldn't. But knowing that Harry did something that the entire Auror College couldn't was a...mitigating factor in Ginny's mind. But he finished fighting our battles for us, and he has returned. All we would be doing is allowing the public to know the truth before the Ministry has a chance to claim the victory for itself.   
  
Lavender sighed, and shifted slightly. She took out a small brown notebook from her pack and began to write. Ever since Ginny and she had begun to work together, she had done this. Ginny had only seen one page of it - it was in code, and written in such a way that apparently Lavender knew what it said. Ginny assumed that Lavender was debating the merits of the assignment.   
  
After a moment, Lavender looked up, and her blue eyes stared at Ginny for a moment.   
  
Let's do it. I want you to know that I almost didn't agree to even listen to you last night, and would have gone to the Ministry. But...I couldn't do it, not to you, and not to Terry. The truth is far more important than anything else, and we must tell the world the truth about the fall of You-Know-Who. Lavender finished writing, and shut the book, placing it back in her back.  
  
Breakfast arrived; a plate of eggs and toast for Lavender, and a ham steak for Ginny. While they ate, they talked of nothing consequential. Draco's latest scheme, the upcoming year at Hogwarts, Ron's career, their parents, they even spoke of the war, anything to keep them off the subject of their latest project until they could get to the office. They finished, and Tom came over to see them and collect their money.  
  
Good day ladies, enjoy your meal?  
  
Muchly, thank you Tom. Have you heard anything about any new Death Eater activity? Lavender asked, unsure of how he would react. Tom had lost a son to the war, a victim of an attack on Hogsmeade. After that, Tom had made it his business to report any and all Death Eater activity to the Ministry, if he caught word of it. Several lesser Death Eaters had been captured by the Aurors this way, and Tom had been present at each and everyone of their trials.  
  
Tom regarded them for a moment, and smiled. Not today. The article in last nights _Prophet_ really stirred things up around here, ladies. Many of my customers hope that this second war is over, but who knows? There was a time about a year ago when there were no attacks for almost two weeks. Have a nice morning.  
  
They handed him the two galleons, three sickles and five knuts that the breakfast had cost, and he left them to leave. Taking everything with them, they stepped once again out into the alleyway behind the Cauldron, and tapped on the brick wall. It moved aside quickly, and soon enough they were back in the throngs of people searching for school supplies and daily needs.  
  
After being swept up in the hustle and bustle of the early morning shopping for a few minutes, the offices of the Daily Prophet loomed above them, the wooden sign swinging slightly in the breeze. Ginny pushed the door open, and they went inside.  
  


*****  
  


Ron awoke from his night's sleep in a haze. His left arm was draped over Hermione's stomach and his leg lay under her's. They had both been exhausted last night, after the hectic day had occurred, and it was in the calm of morning that Ron reflected on the past forty-eight hours.  
  
_I can't believe that he's come back to face trial._ That simple statement went against everything that he had convinced himself to believe in about Harry. He convinced himself over a three year period that Harry had lied about everything seventh year - the time that Harry had come back from his initiation bleeding, but had lied and said he had fallen down a few stairs, or the time that Harry had been out hunting Muggles, and his bed had been empty for two night - and even Draco hadn't known where he was, at least until later. But in light of everything, even Ron had to reexamine where he stood. He wanted Harry to pay, there was no doubt about that, but he would help Harry survive until he could stand trial. Ron would also ensure that Harry's trial was a fair one. No one, especially not Harry, deserved to have a show trial. Harry of course, would be the one hardest to convince the wizarding public that he did not deserve one. They would be out for blood.  
  
Hermione rolled over, and cradled herself into Ron's lightly muscular chest. Morning, love. Ron said softly, watching her light figure sleep. It was peaceful like this - and Ron hoped that there would be many more mornings like this one. Hermione lifted her head slightly, turned, and kissed his chest softly. she replied, and set her head down again.  
  
Sleep well? He said easily, slipping into old habits.  
  
Hermione replied luxuriously, obviously reveling in the early morning solitude with her husband. He shivered at that thought, happy that she was his.  
  
She sat up, stretched, marched into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and blew him a kiss. He smiled, and closed his eyes once again. His stomach grumbled, just as it did every morning, and in typical fashion, he responded. Ron's shower could wait. He slipped off the duvet, and padded to the door. Turning the handle, he was totally and utterly unprepared for the sight that greeted him.  
  
Bloody Hell! He exclaimed, turning red at the sight before him. Harry and Draco sat opposite his door, Harry's head on Draco's shoulder, and Draco's head laying on Harry's. _Of all the things to see early in the morning, this is definitely_ not _one that I want to see everyday._ It was one thing, Ron summated, to be gay and flaunting it for all of the world to see, or to be gay and go about your life quietly, leaving your gay-ness for the privacy of your own flat. Of the two, Ron definitely preferred the latter.   
  
They were asleep, and they had made up, apparently. Why was beyond Ron, but he was sure that he would hear _all _about it once they woke up. Shaking his head, he went down the hall, down the stairs, and went in search of breakfast.  
  
A few moments later, eggs were cracked, bacon was frying, and ham was broiling. Coffee perked in the machine, and orange juice was being poured. Sometimes magic was so useful when you were hungry.  
  
He set the table while things were cooking, and when Hermione, Harry and Draco had come down the stairs, everything was ready.  
  
Weasley can cook? You have him trained well, Granger. Draco drawled at Ron, who bristled good-naturedly. Although the barbs continued after they left school, it seemed a little...petty to both of them, and so they had come to some sort of truce. It held, for the most part.  
  
I do. And sometimes, even Hermione joined in.  
  
They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, Ron pondering his day, and what it could possibly bring. He had spent the past two weeks doing very little at work, wondering if and when the Death Eaters would attack again, and now that Harry had returned he knew that he'd never need to worry about it.  
  
Ron waved the dishes into the kitchen, turned the faucet on, and pulled his cloak on. He kissed Hermione on the cheek, and said good-bye to Harry and Draco, and Disapparated to the Ministry with a _pop_.  
  


*****  
  


Hermione, Harry and Draco were left sitting at the table with the abrupt departure of Ron from their midst. She chuckled softly.  
  
Now the only time that Ron gets like that is when he is annoyed with someone, and doesn't want to deal with it. Hermione turned to the two boys, already having arrived at the proper conclusion. Is there anything that you two would like to tell me? She raised her eyebrow in anticipation.  
  
The two of them shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the idea that she had found out before they had told her. She noticed that Draco tilted his head slightly to the left and Harry to the right, and they looked at each other for a brief moment. That was all it took to bring her conclusion beyond a shadow of a doubt.   
  
Harry spoke first. Draco has accepted me as I am, and I guess you   
could say that we're back together again. Ron must have seen us in the hallway this morning, sleeping, and wasn't too pleased about it.  
  
That's putting it mildly, Harry. Draco added.  
  
Harry, you know that Ron was never truly comfortable with you and Draco. The wizarding world is very...needy of children, and since the gay males don't reproduce, there is this pressure to at least have a wife, even if you are gay. Look at Dean and Seamus. It's all well and good to be experimenting' during school, but when you get beyond that age... Her voice trailed off slightly, and Draco nodded, in agreement. Obviously he had heard much of the same lecture from someone in his life.   
  
And we can't love who we want because of this?  
  
No, no, it's nothing like that. It just...the wizarding population is so small that while it's not condemned as it is in much of Muggle society, it is frowned upon. Children are an important part of our world, and it's the only way that we can continue. You can love whoever you want. I think sometimes even Ron looks at Justin Finch-Fletchly and thinks yeah, he's hot'. But he never does anything about it. You and Draco have some of that conditioning, but it's not nearly as complete because of your pasts. You can love who you want, because you have no one to tell you otherwise.  
  
I love you, Potty. Draco laughed.  
  
I love you too. Harry laughed as well, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that they were together again.  
  
Hermione glanced at a small clock on the wall, and noticed that Ginny and Lavender should be in the office by now. Draco, do you want to come with me when I go to see Ginny to discuss the articles, and what we want to say with them?  
  
No, thank you Granger. Harry and I still have a lot to talk about. Draco pulled Harry's hand into his own.  
  
Draco, go with Hermione. I'll be fine here. I took care of myself for three years. Harry stated firmly.  
  
Draco said snippily. I'll go, since it is, after all, helping Harry.  
  
She smiled at the two men sitting opposite her. They were so vulnerable now, tentatively taking the steps back to the road of love and trust that they had left over three years ago, that any and all slights or unhappiness on either side could send them into a tizzy. It was really cute. She felt lucky to be able to watch them. Harry yawned, stretching upwards. He obviously hadn't gotten enough sleep last night.  
  
I'm going back to bed. He announced, as if it were any surprise.   
  
We'll leave a little before lunch, Draco. Be ready.  
  
Yes mother. Draco and Harry left the dining room, leaving Hermione alone. She grabbed a space piece of parchment and a quill and began to write. It was going to be a long day.  
  


*****  
  


Justin Finch-Fletchly's office sat right by the assignment board for the day. While he wasn't working, he enjoyed watching the passer-by's scurrying from place to place. He was calm at all times, the model of an aristocratic upbringing. A flash of red caught his eye. Weasley had apparently arrived, and was checking the board. He decided to have a little fun before he was to leave to pick up Ginny.  
  
He sauntered over to Ron. Hello, Weasley.  
  
Ron nodded, not paying much attention to the leaning figure in the doorway. Justin smiled, and plucked a stray hair from his midnight blue robes.  
  
Any Death Eaters you're required to take care of today Weasley? Justin queried. Potter, for example, he barked a laugh. You know it's too bad that he keeps getting away from you. One might even think you were letting him escape on purpose.  
  
At this Ron whirled on Justin, grabbed the front of his robes, and pushed him back into his office, shutting his door. Do not say another word about Potter, Fletchly. I have no patience for that today. Ron spat into Justin's smooth face, and Justin caught that slight slip at the name of Potter. Something was up with Weasley, and Justin thought he would peruse it a moment more.  
  
Are you hunting Potter, Weasley?  
  
Weasley's face had returned to impassivity, but it was a barely controlled impassive gaze. No. He is not on my list. Yours?  
  
Justin replied, and Ron nodded. Something was up with Weasley, and it wasn't the fact that he supposedly wasn't still hunting Harry Potter. Justin knew that if given the chance, Weasley would kill Potter and be done with it.  
  
With that, Ron turned and strode out of Justin's office, slamming the door behind him.  
  
_Tut tut Weasley. With a temper like that, you'll never make it very far in this organization,_ Justin told himself, and he smiled broadly. He grabbed his cloak, tidied up his desk, and let the door close as he exited his office.   
  
Within a few moments he was at an official Disapparation point, and he Disapparated to Diagon Alley. Ginny Weasley in about an hour would no longer be a free woman. That was a good feeling.  
  
Diagon Alley was it's typical busy self, with the height of the morning traffic filling the confined space. Justin noted with some satisfaction that both wizards and witches looked about them with trepidation, still unsure after more than two weeks of no attacks, that there wouldn't be one.   
  
He wore his robes with ease, and his Auror badge glinted off of the high morning sun. A bubble of space appeared around him, partly by design and partly because he enjoyed having freedom of movement.   
  
Justin came to the offices of the _Daily Prophet_, and glared at the door for just a moment. He did not like most reporters, due to the fact that they did nothing for the Ministry but create trouble. If the Minister of Magic said something was so, it was not Justin's place to contradict him.   
  
He pushed open the small door, and walked into pandemonium. Newspaper offices are at the best of times not very organized places, and if magic is involved, you should fear for your life. Owls swooped around carrying inter-office mail, reporters rushed from desk to desk, quills and parchments flying behind them. Copy articles flew unbidden just below the ceiling, and would land on seemingly random desks. Surveying it all at one end of the room was a desk on a slightly raised platform, with two other desks behind it. The desk looked like something had exploded on top of it with papers landing and taking off, owls circling, waiting for their parchment to be finished, and various reporters all talking at the same time to a very large man sitting behind the desk. He had an enormous neck, and his bushy eyebrows nearly covered his droopy eyes. He wore pinstripe robes, blue with a gray stripe, and a large chain went from one side of the robes to the other.   
  
Chortle McNottle was the very prominent editor of the _Daily Prophet _and when necessary, he could be very intimidating. He was currently holding four conversations and writing at the same time. This was a man who knew what work was. Justin strode up to the platform and cleared his throat.   
  
For a moment, nothing happened. Then McNottle put his quill down, and stood up. Leave us, he told his other business, and they filed down the two steps to the main floor, and went back to their desks. Justin climbed the steps, and stood in front of the imposing man. Fudge said you wanted to see me? Make it quick, he said impatiently, pulling at his mustache.  
  
Ginny Weasley is to be arrested for subversive activities.  
  
NcNottle leaned back in his chair and was silent for a moment. I see, he finally said, leveling his gaze at Justin. I don't believe for a minute that Ginny Weasley is a Death Eater, or any other sort of subversive. I don't have a choice of letting you take her, but you listen to me. I will do everything in my power to stop this.  
  
Justin gazed right back, and leaned over the desk. Don't think that you are above reproach, Mr. McNottle. There are...things that I'm sure you would rather not have aired, correct? There had been rumors, but nothing substantial. There were rumors about every notable in the world. I would hate to see you in Azkaban. Justin laughed.   
  
Brown eyes flickered. I have nothing to hide.  
  
Of course you do. Everyone does. Just make sure that you keep silent, and everything will be fine.  
  
Get out of my sight. Justin noticed that he did not explicitly say   
get out'. Justin smiled once more, bowed slightly, and strode down the stairs and deeper into the building, looking for Ginny Weasley's office.  
  
He found her office seven doors down one of the corridors, apparently she and Lavender Brown shared one, which would make things all the better. The plain wooden door, saying only Ginny Weasley and Lavender Brown on a small plaque on it was shut. He pulled out his wand, not particularly caring if anyone saw him.   
  
He cried, and the door shot open. Charging in, Justin watched as the shock registered on the two girl's faces. he called out, and suddenly Ginny was unconscious on the floor and Lavender was reaching for her wand.  
  
Don't touch anything, Brown. Justin told her warily, his blood pumping and fingers tingling. He always got a high after an arrest, and this time was particularly sweet. She's being charged with being a traitor and subversive. I wouldn't want to be her friend right now, if I were you. Or should I arrest you as well?  
  
Lavender struggled with herself as Justin watched. The devotion to one's comrades was a remarkable thing, and one that he could use to his advantage. She's not a Death Eater, Fletchly. Lavender said bitterly, plopping down in her chair.  
  
There have been eye-witness accounts of her Death Eater activities. I could kill her here and no one could utter a squeak of complaint, least of all you. Do not tempt me. He moved quickly to quell any opposition, by using a Levitating Charm on Ginny, and quickly pushing her out of her office. Lavender followed silently slightly behind him, watching. He was beaming, his blood pumping and he felt on top of the world at this moment. Nothing like an arrest.  
  
They reached the main room of the _Prophet_ and Justin could barely contain his glee. He tried looking serious, and he put on his best aristocratic face, but it was very difficult. Everyone was staring, and the noise of the press sunk to a lull, with only the murmuring of whispers to keep the sounds going. Chortle McNottle rose from his desk, furious. But even he kept silent.   
  
Justin, Ginny and Lavender reached the landing, and literally ran into Hermione Granger-Weasley and Draco Malfoy walking up the stairs.  
  
Hermione almost fell backwards, but Draco grabbed her arm and prevented her from falling. Any reply that Draco would have made to Justin about watching where one was going died on his lips when he realized who was Stunned.  
  
Justin took the opportunity to speak. Well, well, well, he said, his blue eyes darting from Granger to Malfoy, I'm taking Ginny Weasley in to be tried for subversion. She's a Death Eater of the highest caliber. Now, get out of my way. With that, he pushed Granger against the wall, and floated Ginny down the stairs, not bothering to look back at the stunned faces. He smiled. Today was turning out to be a good day.  
  


*****  
  
  


A/N - Chapter 4 for all to enjoy. Thanks to Nancy for the beta. She's wonderful. Go read her Malfoy P.I. up at Schnoogle. Thanks to all for their reviews of chapter 3. Please take a moment to be a responsible reader and review chapter 4. What did you like? What do you think will happen? Are Harry and Draco really back together? Will anything break them apart? What about Ginny? Any questions you wished answered? Chapter 5 will be up on Nov. 1st, so mark your calanders. If you wish to be added to my notification list, please review and leave your e-mail address.   
  
From Chapter 3  
  
Myr - Excellent that we get 2 chapters before the end of Oct. Your story is very engaging. I love it! Thanks for the review! What did you think of chapter 4?  
  
Kandra - No, no one interferred - but the Trial of Ginny Weasley will be on the front page of the Prophet for days to come. As to sleeping without watch - Harry did come back on his own, and although trust is something that once lost, is hard to regain, I think Harry is slowly doing so. And yes, you will find out exactly how it was done. Thanks for the review!  
  
MOI - Enough of Harry's side of things? Thanks for the review!  
  
Mistykasumi - Gee, thanks. *Blushes*. Well, he might just drop down and die...although not for a while. :)  
  
Riisha - It's okay, I understand. You will find out what happens at the Ministry...and with Abar and everyone. Lots coming up! Thanks for the review!  
  
Kaisa - Thanks, love. Any buts' on this chapter?  
  
Thanks to all who read...now if we could just get them to review...  
C.  
EHowland@Anselm.Edu  
AIM : Constantine1453  
Y!M - franzjoseph1916


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